Bandiagara
by ebfiddler
Summary: Picks up right where One Man's Trash left off. With a cargo hold full of gleanings from the junkyards of Beylix, Serenity heads towards the remote Rim world of Bandiagara. Can the crew avoid the notice of Blue Sun? Humor/Romance/Action/Drama.  Ninth in series.
1. Chapter 1

Bandiagara, Part 1a

Bandiagara follows One Man's Trash, and picks up right where that story left off. It is the 9th story in my series that begins with A Lion's Mouth.

Rating: All my stories are PG to PG-13 to occasional R. You will not find detailed descriptions of blood, gore, and sex, but you will find situations appropriate for mature readers, innuendo, implication, and (gasp) swear words. This story is PG-13 to R.

As always, thanks to my sister for beta reading.

* * *

><p><em>Who stole the hot water?<em>

* * *

><p>Inara docked the shuttle with Serenity. Kaylee sat in the passenger seat, still furious with Simon, but so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. When Inara finished the shut-down sequence she turned and looked over to find Kaylee drooping in her seat. She stood to tiptoe past, but Kaylee started awake, and resumed her ranting right where she'd left off.<p>

"Made me so mad, actin' like I was too dumb to follow directions, when he didn't have no clue what to do, neither. Just had fancier words to talk about how dumb he was."

"妹妹 Mèimei," Inara said. "You've had a hard, hot day's work. You need a bath and a good long sleep."

"Oh, now, Inara, that does sound good," Kaylee said, her voice softening somewhat. "But where 'm I gonna find a bath aboard Serenity? I'm so tired I don't think I could even stand up long enough for a shower."

Kaylee really _was_ tired, Inara reflected, because it was Kaylee herself who had installed Serenity's only proper bathtub, right here in Inara's shuttle. Inara didn't remind her—that kind of thing had clearly gotten Simon in the doghouse—she just set about getting out the tub and rigging it up.

It was ingenious, really. Space in the shuttle was limited, and the tub was a collapsible bath. When fully expanded, it was the size and shape of a Japanese お風呂 o-furo—not as long as a Western-style bathtub, but deep, and fully capable of providing a good, hot soak for a full-grown adult. When collapsed, it folded down into a nearly flat panel the size of the bottom of the tub, and fitted neatly behind the wall panel of the shuttle. Kaylee had rigged hoses that attached to the faucet in the shuttle's head. The tub was a water-hog, of course, but Inara figured if anyone had earned the right to use Serenity's hot water, it was Kaylee, whose expertise had been in constant demand the whole time they were on Beylix.

She sat Kaylee on the stool, washed her hair in the sink, helped her sponge herself off, and then assisted her into the tub.

"Ahhhh!" Kaylee sighed, relaxing into the warmth of the water.

The bath was not as hot as Inara would have liked—apparently it took more hot water than Serenity had to fill it up, and she'd had to compromise to a mere "warm." The tub really had been used to its full potential only when Inara had the shuttle parked somewhere suitable planet-side, with access to plenty of hot water. But Kaylee found it cozy and comforting enough—she was nowhere near as fussy as some of Inara's clients had been.

"Inara, I think I just done died and gone to heaven," Kaylee murmured. "Or maybe I'm dreamin'. If this is a dream, it's a good one—don't wake me up." She closed her eyes. Inara let Kaylee have her privacy, but stayed nearby. The young woman was actually tired enough that she might just nod off and slip under the waves. Inara didn't want any accidental drowning in her shuttle.

. . .

The water in the shower was colder than a 巫婆的乳房 wūpó de rǔfáng. Mal was no hedonist, but even he had to admit that he preferred to have a little warm water to mix with the cold. He turned the water off and stood shivering as he scrubbed the dump filth from his hair and body. Hell with shaving, probably just cut himself, way he was shivering. Only time he'd bathed in colder water was the time near New Kasmir when the only option was glacial meltwater. Now that was _cold_. "Gah!" he exclaimed, despite himself, as he rinsed off the soap. Might not be glacial meltwater, but it ran a close second. Damn Zoe. He was gonna hafta have a word with that woman—clearly she'd gone and used up all the hot water before he got there. She might be an expectant mother, and deserved some indulgence on that account, but there weren't no call for her to use up all the hot water Serenity had to offer when there were six others on the boat could use it too.

He was toweling off when there was a knock on the door. He hastily covered himself—might be Inara, and he didn't want her to see him in this state. Actually, no man wanted any woman to see him in this state. Cold water shrinkage was no joke. Fact of nature that a man's tender parts tended to run and hide when beset by cold, but that didn't mean any female should bear witness to such a state of affairs.

Again the knock came, more insistent, and Mal hastily donned his trousers and shirt. He picked up his towel and opened the door to find Simon glaring daggers at him. Mal returned the glare with interest, as he stepped through the door and coolly buttoned his shirt. Doc had no call to be glaring—Mal'd been in there less than five minutes. He was surprised Simon hadn't taken care of this earlier—hadn't he been back at the ship before Mal and Zoe? Hell, he'd even do the Doc a favor—"Simon, you might want to wait. Ain't no hot water to speak of." He tucked in his shirt, pulled his suspenders over his shoulders, turned and walked away, while Simon's redoubled glare bounced harmlessly off his retreating back.

. . .

Inara recognized Mal's knock at the shuttle door.

"Inara, may I come in?"

She pre-empted that action by going out to him. "Kaylee's just fallen asleep in my bed. I'm going to let her sleep it out there. She's had such a hard day."

"That she has, Inara. I worked her to the bone. Not nobody else could sort through that junk heap and find the hidden treasure like Kaylee."

"She had a blow-up with Simon." Mal raised his eyebrows, so she filled him in on how Simon and Kaylee, unable to fly themselves back from the dump, had had "words." To her surprise, Mal looked more and more miserable as she told the story, even though she told it light-heartedly.

"It's my fault, you know," he said, when she finished.

"How could it be your fault, Mal? You weren't even there!"

"Yeah, well, that's the point, ain't it? I left them stranded high and dry. Just ran off with the mule, tellin' them to fly the shuttle back to Serenity when I knew right well enough neither of 'em's a trained pilot. Never even thought to check back, just assumed they did as I said. Came back with Jayne and just barged in here and ordered Simon to run that test, like he'd been resting up at his ease drinkin' lemonade ever since I left the dump." He turned to walk away.

"Mal! Where are you going?"

"Gonna find Simon, and apologize. Reckon I better wait and let Kaylee sleep it out, afore I apologize to her."

. . .

Kaylee slept through, and a somewhat subdued crew met for dinner. Zoe set the autopilot and joined the mostly silent group at the dinner table. At first everyone was too hungry to talk much beyond, "Please pass the tofu," but soon Zoe found herself on the receiving end of one of Mal's looks. Strange thing was, she couldn't tell what the 地狱 dìyù he meant. Had no clue, in fact.

Mal flashed Zoe a look, and she looked back at him with a baffled expression. This was so unusual that Mal did a double take and looked at her again. His message was clear—in his own mind at least. _What the__地狱__dìyù you mean by using up all the hot water, Zoe? Didn't appreciate the cold shower. _She still didn't get it.

"What're you talkin' about, sir?" Zoe asked into the complete silence.

Inara, Simon, and Jayne were so used to Mal and Zoe's wordless conversations that they didn't find this question in any way unusual. Ip, however, was mystified—he expected the Captain to reply, "Wasn't saying anything." River, on the other hand, understood it all, and was having a hard time containing her giggles.

"The water, Zoe," the Captain clarified.

"What about the water?" she asked, an edge entering her voice.

"The _hot_ water," Mal elaborated, glaring right back at Zoe. "_Someone_ used it all up." Next to him, Inara looked conscious and actually reddened a little, but Mal didn't notice, as he was too busy accusing Zoe. River hugged her arms across her chest—her ribs ached with the effort of holding in her laughter. Inara shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Zoe rose to her own defense. "Wasn't me used it up. I was only in the shower five minutes. Three of that was washing my hair. And the hot water conked out before I could rinse the shampoo out. Rest of my shower was cold…_sir,_" she added pointedly.

"Don't look at me," Simon said to Mal in his most put-upon voice. "I had to shower in ice-cold water, after _you_ told me that you'd used up all the hot water."

"Did not use up all the hot water," Mal retorted. "Weren't none to use up. Coldest damn shower I've had since that glacial meltwater bath in New Kasmir." He shivered at the memory and did not see Inara's uncomfortable squirm. "Colder than a summer day on St Alban's."

"A summer day?" Jayne asked. "That don't sound so cold."

"It's an expression, Jayne," Zoe replied.

"You been to St Alban's, Jayne," Mal reminded him. "Don't you recollect how cold it was?"

"Yeah, Mal, it was cold—but it was the middle of a ruttin' snowstorm," said Jayne, with an air of stating the obvious. "You know, Mal, _winter._"

"I recollect well enough, Jayne. And no, actually, we were there in _summer_. That was a summer St Alban's snowstorm."

"耶稣 Yēsū, that was 发情 fāqíng summer?" Jayne exclaimed, at the same time as Simon asked, "Is that the warmest it gets on St Alban's?"

"It's no wonder Tracey wanted to move his family to a warmer place," Inara commented, to cover her mounting embarrassment. "And now I understand the proverbial expression, 'Colder than a summer day on St Alban's'."

"I have to admit, I never did get that one, before," Ip commented. "I thought it was a misquote."

River was squirming in her seat with the effort of restraining her guffaws. The rest of the crew were so busy bickering over who had "used up" the hot water that they didn't notice. She didn't trust herself to point out that Serenity had a flash heating system that provided continuous hot water, rather than an old-fashioned reservoir tank. No one had "used it up." Clearly the heating element had burnt out—probably when Inara filled the tub while Zoe showered and Ip did the dishes. River knew Kaylee could have pointed that out in an instant—but River wasn't about to speak up on that point. The situation was _way_ too entertaining.

Inara couldn't make eye contact with Mal, who glared around the table trying to spot the hot-water thief. Zoe and Simon glared right back at him, while Jayne glared, too, but in his case there was nothing personal about it—it was just a habitual expression. Ip looked around, baffled by the strange group dynamics. River couldn't contain herself any longer, and hooted with laughter. "Lord, what fools these mortals be!"

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

妹妹 Mèimei [little sister]

お風呂 o-furo [Japanese-style bath (Japanese)]

巫婆的乳房 wūpó de rǔfáng [witch's breast]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

耶稣 Yēsū [Yesu]

发情 fāqíng [ruttin']

* * *

><p><em>Will Mal discover what happened to the hot water? What do you think? Review and comment, please.<em>

__I want to acknowledge the work of Mal4prez. In Chapter 22 of Back Stories III, a bath tub appears in Inara's shuttle, and that is the inspiration for the tub in this chapter. So, after you review this story, immediately go and read Mal4prez's stories, and send her some comments and reviews...best way to encourage her to give us another chapter of her amazing epic fic.__


	2. Chapter 2

Bandiagara, Part 1b

_Mal and Inara have an uncomfortable conversation._

* * *

><p>"Mal, I have a confession to make," Inara said. She was sitting cross-legged on the edge of Mal's bed, and he stood on the floor behind her, busy with his hands. Best get this over with, while she couldn't see his face.<p>

"Mmmm?" he queried, pausing briefly in his task. He resumed running the comb and his fingers through Inara's silky tresses, mesmerized by how they rippled through his hands and fell caressingly on her bare shoulders. He bent over, dropping kisses on the back of her neck, then whispered in her ear, "What d'you want to confess, darlin'?"

"I confess, Mal—that I—stole the hot water."

"You?" He straightened up. "_You_ stole the water?"

"Yes. I did."

"Now whatever did you do that for?"

"I—gave Kaylee a bath. I filled the tub." She turned and looked at him seriously. "It was selfish. I never considered that I was condemning the rest of you to cold showers."

"You were very wrong to do that."

She nodded, turning back. "Yes, I was."

"You will have to pay for it."

"I know."

"You're very lucky the cold water did not permanently damage my manliness."

"Your manliness!" she exclaimed, turning to face him. "Your manliness," she repeated in a different tone altogether, looking at what confronted her at eye level.

"You'll pay for this, Inara Serra," he growled.

"Oh, yes, I'll pay," she agreed, with a wicked glint in her eye.

. . .

"_Your wife?"_

"_We're not married. We're courting."_

"_But you do intend to marry her?"_

"_Nothing would please me better."_

"So, were you serious?" Inara asked Mal. They were lying naked side by side in a comfortable afterglow.

"Yes." He rolled over and pinned her to the mattress with his elbows, with a gleam in his eye.

"Really?" she asked, her color rising.

"I meant it."

Her heart began to beat faster.

"I was absolutely serious about you havin' to pay for stealing the hot water," he said with a smirk. "Why do you ask? Do you feel you ain't paid enough yet?" He ducked his head down and made to recommence collecting payment.

"Were you serious about what you said to Juju Kamara?"

He rolled off her and lay next to her, looking away at the ceiling. He had a pretty good idea what she meant, but he wasn't ready to admit it. Felt like he was handling high explosives. One wrong word and it'd blow up in his face. "Said lots of things to Juju Kamara."

"But not all of them so personal."

"Yeah, well, got to feeling a bit truthsome," he said. Might as well admit to that. "She reminded me some of my ma. Never could lie to my ma."

"You were being truthful, then?"

"Everything I said about finding Serenity is true," Mal replied. "The prison camp, the beatings, the living in the slums, the credit account, then seein' her for the first time and knowin' I belonged with her."

Inara was silent for a moment. That was not what she meant, and he knew it, but still he had slipped something to ponder into the mix. _The beatings? _He hadn't mentioned beatings to Juju Kamara. Had he been beaten at the Alliance prison? She mentally shook herself. Back to the subject.

"Was it true what you said about marriage?" _Nothing would please me better._

He could not pretend he didn't know what she was talking about. "Inara, it's what she expected to hear. Told you she reminded me of my ma. She's from a traditional culture. Don't hold with—what you—what I—what we're doin' if we don't intend to marry. Couldn't have given no other answer."

Inara looked away, dissatisfied. _Couldn't_ give another answer? _Wouldn't_ give another answer? Didn't _want_ to give another answer? She'd thought, maybe, just maybe, he was ready to have this talk. She concealed her feelings on the subject. But there was still another topic that needed airing.

"_What about you, Captain? How many children do you want?"_

"_Oh, four. Maybe five."_

"What about children?" she asked.

"Juju's children?" he replied, deliberately misunderstanding.

"You told Kaylee and everyone else that you wanted five children."

"Just flapping my mouth." He sighed inwardly, careful not to let it show. She remembered it all, and now he was getting grilled. He'd just opened his mouth without thinking. _Oh, four. Maybe five._ 白痴 Báichī. Never heard tell of a Companion with children. _ 'Course I ain't gonna have no four or five. Count myself lucky to have even a one. _Even his hasty amendment didn't help much. Still showed his heart on his sleeve, made himself vulnerable to hurt. He tried side-tracking. "Got carried away by Kaylee's enthusiasm. Remember the look on Simon's face when she said she wanted six kids?" He sure remembered the look on Inara's face. Not exactly unqualified delight. Inscrutable, it was. Kinda like how she looked now. He tried more diversion. "And how Jayne said he wasn't never gonna have a kid, and not three days later, Janice shows up claiming he was the father of her child?"

"How about you?"

"How about me what?"

"Any Janices in your past? Any chance you're a father and you don't know it?"

"No," he answered with certainty. He remembered every woman he'd ever lain with—weren't that many, truth to tell, so he wasn't like to forget any—and they were all either dead or (with a glance at Inara) presently accounted for. No surprise children for him. "But I'm going to be a father for sure."

Inara stretched her eyes wide. "For sure?" Tension coiled deep within her. Was there something he hadn't told her?

He hastened to explain. "Zoe ain't said anything, and she probably won't, but I reckon whether she knows it or not, she's expecting me to stand-in for father to her child. Even if she don't expect it, I'm like to be the closest thing to a father that child will ever know, 'less Zoe decides to marry again."

_Was that what was behind his foolish grin when Zoe announced her pregnancy to Serenity? _Inara wondered. The knowledge that he was going to be a father, sort of—and his feeling like a proud papa, sort of? "And how are you feeling about your imminent fatherhood?" she asked, lightly. Or as lightly as she could manage.

"Oh, I got past denial, I'm still kinda in shock," he said with a smile, taking her banter at face value. "I reckon full-blown panic will hit me sometime soon." He rolled over and propped himself up on an elbow. Enough with the uncomfortable questions all headed his direction. This could go both ways. "What about you?"

"Oh, I don't think I'll be in a state of panic about Zoe's baby. Though I'll be glad to help her out."

"No, I meant, you never gave an answer to Kaylee's question. About how many children _you_ want."

She was silent, and didn't look at him.

He was determined not to let her off the hook, but he thought maybe he could ease the way, so he asked, "Do Companions ever have children?"

"Sometimes," she answered. "Sometimes they retire, marry, and have children."

His heart beat faster. Careful not to let his flutter of hope show, he waited for her to elaborate.

"That's what my own mother did," she continued. "After several decades as a successful Companion, she selected a husband from among her chosen field of candidates, retired, and married him. I was born a year and a half later."

He was privately appalled, and tried hard not to let it show. Several _decades_ as a Companion? And she _selected a candidate?_ It all sounded so…calculated. Where was the falling in love part? "Didn't she love your father?"

"She was fond of him," Inara said simply. "They worked well together."

Alright, maybe that was how the Core folks did it. Too damn cold-blooded for him. "You ever thought about retiring?" The question slipped out before he could think.

"I…no," she answered from a far away place. "I…always thought I'd…die before I retired."

It was a heart-wound. He collapsed back on the bed, exhaling suddenly. Damn. Damn, damn, _damn._ Shouldn't have asked. Knew he wouldn't like the answer.

"Mal?" she asked, in sudden concern. "Mal, no—情人 qíngrén no—that's not what I meant. Before I—before we—亲爱的 qīn'àide Mal, I never thought about retiring _before I met you_."

He was able to breathe again. Alright, least she was thinking of it. Maybe his ship weren't sunk after all. "And now you are—thinking of it?" he asked softly, looking in her eyes, willing her to speak the truth.

She said nothing, but returned his look. He thought she gave a barely perceptible nod.

Relief flooded him. He dared not press his luck any farther. Time to retreat from the explosive topics. Enough with the uncomfortables. Enough grilling. With a great effort, he made his tone lighter. "You know, you once wished me hundreds of fat children."

"I—did." It was almost a question.

"You certainly did. So, if I'm goin' for hundreds, better start practicing—right now." He suddenly rolled back on top of her and kissed her lips, his hands caressing her in the way he now knew she liked to be touched. She responded by pulling him in for a deeper kiss, as she ran her hands through his soft hair and down the sculpted contours of his back.

It was only much later that he realized that she had never really answered the question.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

白痴 Báichī [Idiocy]

情人 qíngrén [lover]

亲爱的 qīn'àide [dear]

* * *

><p><em>Let me know what you think...leave a comment or review. Thanks!<em>


	3. Chapter 3

Bandiagara, Part 2a

_Mal tries to make amends_

* * *

><p>Mal found Simon in the infirmary, as he expected. "Hey, Doc, have you got an hour to spare?"<p>

Simon looked up in disgruntled puzzlement. The Captain, of course, had the right to interrupt his researches and request his services at any time. But an _hour_? Nobody was sick or injured, that Simon had heard about. The Captain, naturally, could use a thorough course of therapy to deal with his post-traumatic stress disorder, but he doubted Mal had come to him for that. It was the same old story. The Captain wouldn't be concerned about PTSD until the nightmares got worse or he had a flashback at an inopportune moment. Then it would be difficult or impractical to begin the therapy. "Certainly," Simon said, with as much ready compliance as he could muster. He was still angry about the cold-water shower. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, I reckon it's time for my inoculation again," Mal answered, rolling up his sleeve.

Simon went to the cabinet and removed the vial with the injectable men's contraceptive. There was only one more dose left in this vial, but they still had two more vials from this lot. As he filled the hypo gun, out of curiosity, he checked the expiration date. He'd just purchased a crate of (barely) expired antibiotic, and in explaining to Mal how the medication didn't actually suddenly spoil on the expiration date, it had him thinking about checking Serenity's other medical stock. Yes, the medicine didn't suddenly go bad the instant the clock ticked over, but it did gradually deteriorate. And the date he saw on the contraceptive vial nearly made him swear aloud, it was so longpast. Perhaps he should have purchased some new stock on Beylix, but then he wouldn't have had enough money for the antibiotic. Or for sutures. Or for sterile saline. Or for—. There simply wasn't enough money to keep the infirmary fully stocked with unexpired medical supplies. It was a balancing act. And men's injectable contraceptive just hadn't been in high demand, before.

Wash had been the only user of it. Jayne didn't like needles, and always took the pills. And the other men of Serenity had been celibate—whether by choice, as in the case of Book, or involuntarily. But now that the Captain's—and his own—luck had changed, Simon needed to put the contraceptive higher on the priority list for purchases. He'd get it at the next opportunity.

Simon gave the inoculation, and Mal rolled his sleeve back down. "You said you needed an hour. Is there something else?" Simon inquired.

"Yes, Doc, there is. Follow me."

Puzzled, Simon reached for his medical bag, but Mal said over his shoulder, "No need for that," and strode off, Simon trailing behind him.

Mal led the way to Shuttle Two. He shut the hatch behind them and gestured for Simon to have a seat in front of the pilot's console. Mal took the other seat.

"First of all, Simon, I owe you an apology."

At last! The Captain would finally admit what a 流氓 liúmáng he'd been, leaving Simon to take an ice-cold shower after a long day's work in the hot sun at that filthy dump. Shuttle Two still held a hint of the landfill stench, and Simon involuntarily recalled all the unpleasant details of the icy bath.

"Back on Beylix, I left you and Kaylee high and dry without a means of returning to the ship. Didn't even understand for some time afterwards that I'd put you in a fix. It was a poor job on my part, and I'm sorry for it."

Simon was stunned. He was angry about the incident at the dump—but all his anger had been directed at Kaylee. She'd taunted him about not being able to operate a vehicle, driving him to use coarse language that he shouldn't have let pass his lips—least of all towards her. Now they weren't speaking to each other. And here was the Captain taking the blame for it. "Captain, really, Kaylee and I lost our tempers, we—"

"Simon, I hadn't put you two in an impossible situation, you wouldn'ta had nothin' to lose your tempers over. _I'm_ supposed to keep track of things like that. That's my job, and I done it poorly." He was done with the apology. "Now, I want to make amends," Mal said, turning to the console. "This here's the initiator. Before you fly, you always flip the three check switches. If all's well, those lights—" he indicated a band of colored lights across the top of the console "—light up. That means your nav, propulsion, and helm systems are online."

Mal continued in the same vein for another minute or two, moving his hands across various switches and dials. Then he shut down the console, turned to Simon and said, "Okay, now you try it."

"What?" Simon said, startled.

"Your turn."

"You want me to—_fly _this thing?"

"That's the notion, Doc. Don't want you never stuck like you were at the dump. Someone's life could depend on you knowin' how to operate the shuttle, and I ain't takin' that chance again. Now you ready to try it?"

Simon now recognized that, whether he wanted it or not, the Captain was giving him flying lessons, so he applied himself to the task. Soon he had mastered the pre-flight check and moved on to the start-up sequence. By the end of the hour, Simon had flown several circuits around Serenity. It was…actually kind of fun. When he pretended the window was just a vid screen, that is. As soon as he remembered that he was staring out into the Black, the reality of infinite darkness struck him, then his hands tensed on the yoke and his knuckles turned white.

"Easy there, Simon. Light touch does it. Now hit that switch—the orange one—no, it toggles _up_—gorrammit, Doc—" Mal reached over and flipped the switch himself, transferring control back to his console, and brought the shuttle in to dock with the ship. "Right, good work, Simon. We'll find another opportunity before long. By the time we reach Bandiagara I want you fluent in basic space flight. If we get the chance planetside, I'll teach you how to take off from ground, and we'll try some atmospheric flight. We'll save ground landing, docking in full gravity, and breaking atmo for later." Lesson over, Mal stood up. As he left the shuttle, he called back to Simon, "Might want to take notes, Simon, on what we just done. Unless your Top Three Percent there's got a photographic memory."

. . .

Kaylee awoke late in the morning feeling ravenous. The others had already eaten breakfast, which was just as well: she was not in a mood to see Simon just now. After helping herself, she went to commune with her machines. Sometimes an engine was just a better listener than a person.

Someone—most likely the Captain and Jayne—had already dealt with the junkyard gleanings in the cargo hold. The piles of parts were netted securely into place, so they wouldn't shift in flight. Kaylee headed directly to the engine room.

To her surprise, someone was already there. She found the Captain standing over a line-up of parts, holding a socket wrench in his hand, and with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Cap'n!" she exclaimed. "What're you—"

"Hey, li'l Kaylee," he said, turning toward her with a smile. "You look well-rested. Feelin' a mite better?"

"Just shiny, Cap'n. Ready to get to work." She eyed the engine parts—it was the set of fusion injectors he'd found at the dump—and the wrench he held in his hand. "Here Cap'n," she said, handing him the next size socket for the wrench, "this one'll fit better."

She moved about her engine room, pulling out her diagnostic equipment—no point installing the fusion injectors if they didn't work—and some cleaning materials. She set the Captain to work burnishing the contacts of the override controller she'd found in the refuse bin, while she took the radion-accelerator core offline in order to remove the damaged Codippily relay.

"You know, that's one thing I've always loved about the Trace Compression Block engine," she remarked conversationally, as she worked. "What makes it so much better than the Capissen 38. The Capissen may have six Gurtslers, but you can't isolate the systems. You have to recycle secondary exhaust through a bypass just so's it don't enter the atmo feed. What 天才 tiāncái thought up that lame design? But with the Trace, the life support ain't tied in directly with the propulsion system. You can take the core offline while you're in flight, and it's easy to isolate the different systems so's you can work on them one at a time. Weren't for that, we'd be spending a lot more time on the ground."

Mal chuckled. Kaylee looked at him. "Not fair to laugh if'n you won't share the joke."

"Just rememberin', 妹妹 mèimei. Bester used to have us grounded for the best part of a week every time we hit dirt, so's he could service the engine," Mal recounted, referring to Serenity's one-time mechanic. "Told me he couldn't fix the thrusters without shuttin' down life-support and everything." Bester had brought Kaylee aboard for an assignation in the engine room, only to find himself out of a job when Kaylee fixed the engine and Mal hired her on the spot to replace him.

"He told you _that_?" She shook her head. "He was just figurin' a way to keep her on the ground longer so's he could pick up girls."

"Every planet, he had another girl, or three," Mal said, his distaste for Bester's very casual attitude toward women evident in his voice. "Can't entirely disapprove it, though, since it brought you to Serenity." He blushed, recollecting his embarrassment at interrupting them _in flagrante delicto_. "Don't know why I'm bringin' up that 傻瓜 shǎgūa. You got yourself a better man now." He handed Kaylee the burnished override controller, then the socket wrench.

"Oh, I don't know 'bout that, Cap'n. Simon and me ain't exactly on speakin' terms right now."

"And that's my fault, 妹妹 mèimei. I weren't thinkin' back there, took off with the one vehicle you could drive, and the only other pilot could fly the shuttle, left you two there, tellin' ya 'Fly it back to Serenity.' Oughtta get kicked in the backside for that."

"I heard ya got a cold shower."

"And you got a hot bath." Mal handed her the first fusion injector. "It's justice. I deserved it. But don't you go takin' it out on Simon."

"Oh, you shoulda heard him." She put on a whiny Core-bred accent. "'I can't fly, I can't drive, we hired a driver for the menial chores.' Made me sick, all them fancy Core folks can't do nothin' for themselves. And then, 'Where's the start button? Where's the operators' manual? How do you turn this thing on?' He was swearin'—"

"You got the Doc swearin'?"

"Oh, he sure was. 'Gorrammit, Kaylee! I'm a ruttin' doctor! What the 地狱 dìyù—'"

"In English and Chinese. I'm impressed," Mal stated. The diagnostic on the second fusion injector checked out, and he handed it down to her. "You been a good influence on him, Kaylee."

She finished tightening the fitting, then gave him a look. "You serious?"

"Sure am. Noticed it at Juju Kamara's. He's beginning to lose the Core taint."

"Whaddya mean, 哥哥 gēgē?"

"Well, he wouldn't exactly pass for a Rim-worlder," Mal said, testing the third fusion injector, "but he ain't all stiff and proper neither. I don't reckon he'd fit in back on that fancy rock he come from no more." He handed the part to Kaylee. "No, his folks mighta neglected his education, so he don't know the basics like how to drive and how to handle animals, but he didn't waste his time. Got a good head on his shoulders and he can learn. You should give him another chance."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

流氓 liúmáng [jerk]

天才 tiāncái [genius]

妹妹 mèimei [little sister]

傻瓜 shǎgūa [idiot]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

哥哥 gēgē [older brother]

* * *

><p><em>So, a snapshot of life aboard Serenity...Do you think Mal managed to make amends? Please, leave a comment or review.<em>


	4. Chapter 4

Bandiagara, Part 2b

_River and Ip crunch numbers, and Jayne tries to detect croutons._

* * *

><p>Serenity had been a hive of activity ever since they lifted off from Beylix. That very night, Mal and Jayne secured the cargo of junkyard parts with netting to keep it from shifting around during take-off. The next morning, Jayne and Zoe started cleaning and sorting. Most of the pieces were corroded and dirty, and some were downright filthy. Kaylee stopped in on her way to the engine room.<p>

"Let's put the spaceship parts at the passenger lounge end of the bay. Small electronics next to Ip's blinky machine, but don't block his access. Vehicle parts by the airlock. Household machines like sewing machines and refrigeration units under the port side catwalk. If'n ya don't recognize it, pile it in the middle an' I'll come figure it out when I get done with the repairs to Serenity." Kaylee then disappeared into the engine room, where she and the Captain were working on repairs.

As soon as Kaylee left the cargo bay, Simon ventured out of the infirmary and lent a hand with the sorting. He'd been working with Kaylee in the engine room for long enough that he now had an idea what many of the pieces of junk were, and he had selected a number of them from the dump himself, so his help was more productive than one might expect of a Core-educated surgeon.

Ip came into the bay to read the data from his grav anomaly machine, and as soon as he was done, he stayed, taking over the task of sorting through the small electronics. When Zoe relieved River at the helm, River came and joined Ip at his task.

Mal was everywhere. He was on the bridge, in the engine room helping Kaylee, in the cargo bay, cleaning, sorting, stowing. He even took Simon aside for some special task, and the two of them disappeared for a time.

The only one not up to her ears in work was Inara. The first day she took over cooking meals and doing dishes, leaving the others free to return to their tasks. Still, she was at loose ends most of the day. It felt wrong to be standing idle while the others were working so hard, but she couldn't even begin to guess at what most of the items in the cargo bay were. She took it on faith that the cargo was worth transporting. Mal certainly believed that it would turn out to be treasure for Serenity. To her it just looked like a pile of trash.

. . .

Ip was crunching numbers in Serenity's dining room. It was the data from the Shadow fly-by, and he was taking the raw data from the particle detector and processing it into something that he could compare with data from other sources. As usual, he enjoyed doing his work in the public areas of the ship, rather than holing up in the privacy of his bunk. He never seemed bothered by the fact that everybody who passed through the dining room interrupted him and asked questions. Even Jayne.

"What's that machine you got settin' in the middle of the table for?" Jayne asked, as he served himself a snack.

Ip was surprised that Jayne was curious enough to ask, but then again, the piece of equipment sat right in front of Jayne's customary seat at the table, so it was hard for him to ignore. "It's a particle detector," Ip answered.

"What does it do?"

"Detects particles." Ip still remembered the incident of his ruined shoes. It was payback time.

_Well, duh_, Jayne's expression read, _I know that._ But he asked, "Particles of what?"

"Charged particles. Neutral particles. Atomic particles." Jayne didn't look like he recognized what Ip was talking about, so he elaborated. "You know, ions, protons, electrons." Jayne was still looking blank, so Ip added, "Wontons. Croutons."

Jayne smirked. "That why you got it on the dining table here? You detect any croutons, you let me know. I like 'em." He got up and carried the rest of his snack off towards the cargo bay.

. . .

Ip's next visitor was River.

He glanced up from a series of involved calculations to find himself looking into her intense, brown-eyed stare. "Gah! River, you startled me," he exclaimed, trying to recover his calm. "I didn't hear you come in."

River smiled playfully, keeping her giggles to herself. She'd carefully snuck up on him, taking advantage of his preoccupation. "Jayne told me you were following a trail of breadcrumbs," she said. This wasn't an exact quote. _"Doc 'Noyman has a machine up there in the dining room what detects croutons," _is what Jayne had actually said. _"Seems stupid to me. Just better off followin' yer nose."_

Ip smiled back. "Trail of breadcrumbs is a good description. Except the trail is not very complete."

"It's hard to follow a trail of breadcrumbs," River observed. "Breadcrumbs get eaten by birds."

An image of River as a bird filled Ip's mind. River, hopping gracefully across a deserted landscape, picking breadcrumbs out of the ashes. _Albatross,_ thought Ip. _That's what the Captain calls her. _Albatrosses were graceful in flight, but awkward on the ground.

"It's not a very appropriate image," River said, as if she had plucked his thoughts out of his head. "May I crunch with you?" she asked, sitting down close beside Ip.

"Crunch?" Ip replied in confusion. "With me?"

"Numbers," River responded, pulling the chair closer.

_Crunch numbers._ Ip smiled. "Sure. I'm downloading the time-of-flight data from the particle detector. I have an algorithm set up to analyze the time-of-flight and the flight paths…"

. . .

"You're really good," Ip said, with admiration.

River's eyes widened. She smiled.

"At numbers," Ip added, paying her back for playing with him earlier. "Are you sure you're not actually a PhD terraformologist or perhaps a mathematics professor in disguise?"

"Disguised as a girl," River said.

Ip smiled. "It's a good disguise." He looked at her in admiration, seeing not only her bright mind, but, as she had just pointed out, the _girl_—or really, the woman in her. She was not a child.

"Can't see the weapon. Only see the girl."

Ip was disconcerted by this puzzling statement. What weapon? Oh. She meant she was carrying a concealed firearm. Okay. He really didn't see the need, aboard Serenity, in deep space, but he had noticed that the Captain often went about the ship wearing his gun in a holster, and not only when they were planetside. Apparently River did, too. He briefly wondered where she concealed it. He had heard of women carrying guns underneath their skirts, strapped to their thighs. An image of what a weapon would look like, strapped to River's thigh, flashed in his mind, to be rapidly suppressed as inappropriate. Re-engaging his train of thought, he wondered why so many of the crew of Serenity felt the need to be armed, and it also bothered him that a man with PTSD, known to be prone to violent flashbacks, walked the halls of the ship armed with a deadly weapon. Why did the doctor not persuade the Captain to lock up his gun in a safe place when it wasn't needed?

"Doesn't feel safe," River interrupted his thoughts. "Never feels safe."

_Who was she talking about? _Ip wondered. _Him? Herself? The Captain?_ He shook off the thought, and returned to the safer subject of mathematics. "You really never went to a university?"

"My education was interrupted."

Ah, right. He remembered her saying that she had left the Core—impulsively, he supposed—and that Simon had accompanied her, throwing up his high-trajectory career at Capital City Hospital on Osiris. "Why did you leave school?"

She did not look at him.

"River, I know you're bright. I can't imagine it had anything to do with academics."

"Unsuitable," she mumbled.

"What was unsuitable?" Ip puzzled a moment. "The academic program at your school didn't suit you?"

She nodded, unable to speak, still not looking at him.

"You could have transferred. To another school. 鬼 Guǐ, you could have transferred directly to a university. Never mind finishing high school. Harcliffe would kill for a student as bright as you. You could have skipped over undergraduate requirements and gone on directly to graduate-level classes."

She was shaking her head sadly, as she regarded him with tears in her eyes. Ip recognized that the subject of schooling was distressing to her.

"Not so interested in formal educational programs anymore?" he inquired sympathetically.

"Tried it. Wasn't any fun," she replied in a small voice.

"You could apply to a university now. With your intelligence, the doors of the best are open to you."

"Can't pay." She was still shaking her head. Ip really was relentless. He didn't get it, that there was no way River Tam could go to a university like a regular person. Simon would have been annoyed with him, but River, despite everything, was amused. And pleased, too. Because it meant that Ip still saw her as a person with the potential to lead a normal life. It was a view that no one else, _no one_, held.

"For a student like you, the admissions officers would bend over backwards to find funding."

River contemplated the picture of university admissions officers engaged in backbends. Then she considered them doing headstands, and finally, cartwheels. Amusement showed on her face.

"What's so funny?" Ip asked. "They would, you know. You'd be an extraordinary student."

"Gymnastics. Backbends. Headstands. Cartwheels."

Ip thought a moment, then joined her in a smile. "It _is _an amusing picture. Even if they didn't wear their business suits and neckties." After another moment of snickering, he said, "But I'm perfectly serious, you know. Funds wouldn't be an issue, for a student like you."

"It's not about the money."

Ip was thinking about his own university experience. It had been the best time of his life. In high school—despite having gone to an academically-oriented high school filled with intelligent teenagers—he'd still been a bit of a fish-out-of-water. Too academic to fit in with the popular crowd. Too gregarious really to fit in with the nerdy crowd. But at Harcliffe University—a top-flight Core university—most of the students had been just as academically talented as he was. His gregariousness—or perhaps he should just call it for what it was, social cluelessness—was an asset. (He knew he often rubbed people the wrong way, but he really didn't know what to do about it or even _if_ he could do anything about it, so he just went on being himself.) He wasn't socially inhibited, and it had made him very popular with the professors. He was never shy about going to office hours and asking tons of questions in class, and professors noticed him.

"Are you worried you wouldn't fit in?" he asked.

River knew she would _never_ fit in, but it didn't worry her at all. "Can't leave Serenity. Don't want to leave Serenity."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

鬼 Guǐ [Hell (lit. 'ghost')]

* * *

><p><em>AN: Okay, I'll admit it: I'm begging for reviews here. Hardly anyone found it to be worth the trouble to write in about the last couple of chapters. I know, I know, everyone's busy, etc., but...it's kinda discouraging to get so little response. Alright, enough with the irritating whiny noises. I'll stop now. :-)_


	5. Chapter 5

Bandiagara, Part 3a

_Keeping books_

* * *

><p>She couldn't find Mal on the bridge. Inara looked all over the boat, and finally found him in his bunk, sitting at his desk hunched over a set of books. He was biting the end of his stylus, running the fingers of his other hand through his hair, and he looked dog-tired.<p>

Mal had been working indefatigably ever since Serenity had lifted off from the surface of Beylix. First he helped Kaylee install some engine parts. Mal only visited the bridge to confirm course settings, leaving the piloting to River and Zoe, and letting Zoe take over executive functions until the top priority engine repairs were complete. The repair work continued on the bridge with replacement of the smashed pilot's console, and then some kind of work on the ship's atmo system. As soon as that was done, all hands—all hands except Inara, that is, who felt herself to be increasingly useless—joined in a massive effort in the cargo bay, sorting and cleaning the piles of refuse that filled the space. Kaylee began fixing up machines, putting together pumps and electric generators—and all sorts of things that Inara didn't really recognize. Mal spent most of the work day in the cargo bay, assisting Kaylee with the task, disappearing from time to time to take care of what Inara could only assume were captainy things, since he certainly didn't appear to be resting.

Inara's original purpose in seeking Mal out was to ask him when they would next be visiting a civilized planet—she needed to schedule another appointment for amelioration therapy, attend to her Guild business, and she felt increasingly ill at ease with how long it had been since she'd done any work. Living on Serenity as a passenger, as Mal's guest, or even as his—dare she think it?—significant other, was all very well, but it wasn't a profession; it wasn't even a job. She needed to do something to earn her keep. In another mood, she imagined Mal might make a coarse joke about _how_ she might earn her keep, but as soon as she saw him, she knew that was out of the question today. He just looked so tired.

"Hello, Inara," he said, looking up with a tired, but welcoming smile. "请进 Qǐng jìn." He shifted in his chair, stretching his sore muscles, and stood up. "Have a seat." He offered her the chair he had just vacated, which was the only one in the bunk.

She sat, but only at the edge, and pulled him back down next to her, perching herself on the corner of the chair so that he still had a proper place to sit and rest his weary body. "I'm workin' on the ship's books," he explained, waving vaguely toward the sizable volumes spread on the desk.

Inara knew he kept the books. On many small cargo vessels, the function of ship's purser was carried out by the captain, rather than hiring a specialist to handle the accounting. Food, water, machinery, medicine, pay for the crew, ships' stores, cargo (both the buying and selling), licensing, insurance and other business costs—someone had to keep track of these things, and on Serenity, it was Mal. He kept two sets of books—one suitable for inspection by agents of the Alliance, whether a police checkpoint or the Bureau of Taxation and Revenue—and the other providing the real accounting that he himself needed to keep track of Serenity's state of financial well-being. Which was mostly not-so-well-being, as Inara knew.

Inara asked Mal to explain what he was doing. "I'm updating the books with our recent work on Beylix," he said. "In honest truth, I'm puzzled what to do about the cattle run. Ordinarily, cargo like _that_—" she knew he meant _smuggled cargo_ "—would go in this set of books." He indicated the extra-legal set. "But Harrow paid into my credit account, which means the Feds got a record of that money, so now I got to register it in this set as well." He indicated the legal books. "Can't write it down as 'Received payment for shipment of smuggled cattle' now, can I? But it can't be written down as something far off, otherwise the expenses I had—the septic vac system, and especially the fodder—don't make no sense. Wish I knew what to do, but I can't even hardly think straight." He sighed again, and worked his hands through his hair, drooping over the desk.

Inara looked over at the books, noted where he'd registered the intake of "recyclables"—their current cargo of junk lifted somewhat extra-legally from the Beylix dump—and scanned the page. She turned to ask Mal a question and saw that he'd fallen asleep. She got up and turned down the blankets on his bed. He woke a bit when she pulled him out of the chair and eased him onto his bed, but only just enough to help her remove his clothing and get him comfortably situated. "Thanks, 'Nara," he mumbled, and settled into his pillow. By the time she finished tucking the blankets around him again he was sound asleep.

She settled down in the chair, and began reading through the books. Income from each job—whether legal or otherwise—was allotted into shares. The most significant share went to the ship. Serenity needed to keep flying, or none of them would work. Of the remainder, the lion's share went to the crew, shared out according to agreement. Mal had scrupulously paid his crew, every time they earned it—even if he'd had to put off the payday (as he had recently on Beylix), even if he'd had to borrow money back from the crew to cover expenses (again, something he had done on Beylix). He accounted for every bit owed to crew, and made good on it. The remaining monies formed the captain's share of the pay.

The story the books told was appalling. Mal had perpetrated a systematic fraud—_for years_—against…himself. As she examined the books, Inara found that, aside from a few sundries—socks, underwear, toiletries—the captain's share was always plowed back into the ship. Compression coil—paid for from the captain's share. Buffer panel on Boros—captain's share. Fuel on Persephone—captain's share. Navigational updates, required by law—captain's share. Food, for the entire crew, on Beylix—captain's share again. Only thing he'd spent on himself were occasional drinks and restaurant meals—usually when he was on the job, meeting a contact—and ammo—again, used on the job. The only significant personal expense was three years ago when he'd bought himself a new pair of boots. And given the state of his old boots, she knew he had waited until it was absolutely necessary. Serenity stayed in the sky because Mal never paid himself. Never took anything, but gave and gave and gave. Paid for the ship and the crew with money out of his own pocket. Sometimes paid with his own blood. In the extra-legal books, Inara noted some cryptically described expenses—bribes, blood money, ransom—that told the tale of just how hard survival on the Rim could be.

Inara picked up the stylus, and began making some notes. There were advantages to being a Companion, after all. She hadn't been a successful businesswoman all these years without knowing something about keeping books.

glossary

请进 Qǐng jìn [Come in]

* * *

><p><em>Short chapter, I know. But the next section couldn't be broken up, so this is how it stands. I'll post the next one soon. I do appreciate comments and reviews, even if they're also short.<em>


	6. Chapter 6

Bandiagara, Part 3b

_Keeping Books_

_A/N: Folks at the other site I post at gave me a hard time about this, so let me just make this clear: Mal is _asleep._ He fell asleep in the last chapter, and he's still asleep. Despite the first line reading, "Mal woke…" He wakes up _in his dream_. We all on board with that? Good. :-) Now back to the story…_

* * *

><p>Mal woke to find the Shepherd sitting in the chair in his bunk, in front of his desk. It was a shock. He'd left the ship's books out on the desk, wide open. He <em>never<em> left the books out in the open, particularly Volume Two, as he thought of it. Shepherd Book coulda seen—oh 地狱 dìyù, what was he worried about? Weren't nothin' in there the Shepherd didn't already know. "Shepherd," he said by way of greeting. "Funny how you seem to turn up whenever I'm too tired to get up. You'd get to thinkin' I didn't do nothin' but laze around in bed 'round here."

Shepherd Book, as was his wont on these occasions, merely nodded a greeting, with that half-smile of his, and said nothing.

Mal propped himself up on his elbows, knowing it wouldn't do no good to tell the Shepherd to get gone from his bunk so he could get outta bed and get dressed. When the Shepherd came, he wanted to talk, or at least he wanted to make Mal talk, so Mal waited until the Shepherd said what was on his mind. Sure enough, the Shepherd soon started grilling him.

"Are you prepared?"

"Prepared for what?" Mal asked.

"To take the place of Wash," Book replied succinctly.

"Ain't tryin' to take the place of Wash," Mal answered. "Ain't tryin' to be Serenity's pilot, nor Zoe's husband. Only thinkin' that when her child is born, Zoe's gonna need some help, and yeah, I figure I'll sorta stand-in as a father to the kid."

"Are you prepared?" the Shepherd repeated.

"Hell no, Preacher, I ain't prepared," Mal replied. "I reckon it's gonna happen whether I'm prepared or not, so I might as well get used to it."

"Don't you think Zoe's strong enough to stand on her own?" Book inquired.

"'Course she's strong enough," Mal answered. "That ain't up for debate. But she needs to know she ain't alone in this. Wash may be dead, but she's got a family, and her whole family's gonna help her raise this child."

"Speaking of children, what about Simon and Kaylee?" Book asked.

"They ain't children. What about 'em?" Mal returned.

"You're trying to do right by them," Book observed.

"I screwed 'em up this time. Weren't intentional. Figure it's up to me to fix it."

"So you approve? Of their relationship."

"No!" Mal replied instantly on his gut instinct. No one was good enough for his 妹妹 mèimei. Then, upon reflection, he amended, "Well, yeah, actually. Simon's shaping well."

"You mean you've succeeded in corrupting him."

Now it was Mal's turn to play the silent card. He waited.

Book expounded. "Turning him to the wickedness of your ways."

"Guess I have," Mal said with a bit of a proud grin. "Reckon I figure it's better for him to follow our wicked ways out here than for him to follow the wicked ways of the Alliance. He's changed, Book. He ain't Core no more."

"You've made him a misfit."

"Don't figure I have. He always had it in him. That's why he broke his sister out of that academy. I didn't have nothin' to do with him makin' that decision."

"Ah…yes," Book said. "His sister."

"Yeah."

"She's coming along."

"She's doin' better," Mal said. "Steadier."

"You once said she wasn't completely right."

"I did. But she ain't all wrong neither. Way I figure, she was talkin' sense most of the time. I just didn't know how to listen."

"Still got the danger lurking in her," Book said ominously.

"I suppose she does," Mal agreed. "But don't we all? Don't we all, Book?" he insisted, when Book didn't reply.

Book still wouldn't answer. Mal had a sense he had touched on the territory the Shepherd never wanted to talk about.

Mal continued to press. "Doesn't the darkness lurk in us all, Book? She may have killed dozens of Reavers—"

"And some people in the Maidenhead Bar—" Book interjected.

"Way I see it, she ain't no worse than what I am," Mal asserted. "Better than, maybe. I got the blood of thousands on my hands—men, women—"

Book interrupted him. "You can't take responsibility for every death under your command in the war."

Mal wasn't about to be talked down. "Yes, I can. And should. Not just the ones I shot, not just the enemy. Everyone I ordered to stand when they coulda run, everyone I ordered to attack when they shoulda took shelter. That girl River ain't no more of a killer than what I am myself. Less so, maybe, since she was made to be that way by some remorseless 不道德 混帐 bùdàodé húnzhàng cutting into her brain."

"And you weren't made to kill? Forced by circumstances?"

"I volunteered to fight, Shepherd. Ain't no one forced me."

"And you killed others easily, gleefully, with pleasure?"

"Hell no, preacher. Every death sits on my conscience. Some more so than others." He fell silent, thinking of some of the deaths that sat heavier on his conscience.

Book interrupted his journey down that dark path. "Your new man."

"You mean Dr Ip? He ain't my man."

"He's making himself your man."

"Can't see why he'd want to do a thing like that."

"Can't you?" Book pressed.

Mal considered. "He wants information outta me. Favorite activity is 'Grill the Captain.' The question is why."

"Curiosity?" Book suggested.

"Sure," Mal readily agreed. "But on whose behalf?"

"Whose indeed?" There was a beat of silence. "I questioned you often enough," Book offered.

"Yeah, you did." Mal gave Book a penetrating stare. Book was another one whose favorite activity was 'Grill the Captain.' "Without offering up a lotta confidences in return, I might add."

Book was silent. He didn't look like he was about to begin offering up any of those confidences now.

"Maybe I just keep him on 'cause I miss your needling, Shepherd. Need someone to keep me sharp."

The Shepherd quirked a smile and turned the subject. "Looking out for Jayne, I see."

"Jayne can take care of himself."

"Yet you rode to the rescue when he found himself entangled with Janice."

"Hell, Shepherd, he didn't tell me he was havin' domestic troubles. From the sound of his comm, it was mayhem, women and children screamin', crashes, explosions, and a Reaver attack thrown in as a bonus."

"Jayne got out of that scrape."

"He did." Mal did his best to look stern, but the Shepherd wasn't fooled.

"You wouldn't mind seeing him entangled."

"No, yeah. It would be funny." Mal knew his sense of humor contained a cruel streak, and part of him was disappointed that Jayne had extricated himself from his predicament so easily. He would have liked to watch him squirm a bit longer.

"Just as funny if it happened to you?" the Shepherd shot back.

"Ha, ha," Mal replied without humor. "But it won't."

"You're so sure? _Cock sure?_"

This time Mal couldn't contain his snort of laughter. Everybody seemed to be askin' him that question. "I am. I ain't a man of loose morals, Shepherd." Book raised his eyebrows and mouthed the word 'thieving.' "Well, okay, I am," Mal conceded, "but not that way. No matter what you may think—with your special hell and all. I may be susceptible," Mal allowed. He was just a human being, after all. "But I ain't loose. Besides, I've taken precautions."

"Because you don't want to father any children on Inara."

Leave it to the Shepherd to hit him where he was most vulnerable. "Yeah, Shepherd, I do," he confessed in a low voice. "I want as many children as she's willin' to bear me. If she's ready to be a mother, I'm ready to be a father."

"And you've told her this?"

"I spilled it on her unawares," Mal blurted. "I could see her face. She don't want children. Leastaways, she don't want 'em with me." This confession hurt more than he expected, and he tried to take refuge in sarcasm. "Ain't a 'suitable candidate,' I s'pose."

"But when she asked you, point blank, if you were serious about wanting children, you wouldn't give her a direct answer," the Shepherd pointed out. "You were flippant, you were evasive, you tried diverting her attention, you counter-attacked."

"I'm…afraid," Mal admitted, at last.

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid if I tell her I want children, I'll scare her off."

"You think she's afraid?" Book queried.

"You heard her. Well, I guess you didn't. _I _heard her. Heard her say she figured she'd die before she retired from Companioning and had children. That ain't very hopeful now, is it?" Mal drew in a breath and looked the Shepherd in the eye. "Shepherd, I could put up with a lot of misfortunes, but losing her again—I might not die, but I reckon it would kill me just the same. Just live a long slow death without her."

Book maintained that Shepherd-y calm of his, almost seeming indifferent as Mal contemplated the idea of long, slow living death. In the circumstances, it was maddening. So was the reasoned logic of Book's next question. "Why not marry her?"

"Nothin' would please me better," Mal replied, repeating his earlier statement.

"But when she asked you about that, you also said you weren't serious."

"Didn't say that!" Mal exclaimed. That was _not_ true. Is that how it had sounded? "Said I couldn't give any other answer."

"Why not tell her what you want?" Again, there was the Shepherd with his damn logic.

"Don't want to scare her off," Mal reiterated.

"You know she would be scared off? Maybe it's what she wants, too."

"She don't tell me her feelings about marriage. About anything." She hadn't told him she loved him. Had she even said she liked him? "She don't talk about her real feelings."

"Like you do?"

The Shepherd's barb was sharp, and Mal nursed his wounds in silence.

"Maybe what your relationship needs is more openness. More trust." Book's voice was kind, but firm.

"I been open," Mal protested. "I gave her everything, right from the beginning—offered myself and all my worldly goods to her acceptance, before we so much as kissed."

"You mean you proposed—" Book began.

"Yes."

"—without mentioning the word 'marriage'," he finished pointedly.

Mal looked away. "Didn't want to scare her off," he repeated.

"Hmm."

"In my own mind, I been married to her since that day. I would never betray her."

"You're a faithful man."

"Yes," Mal said, fiercely.

"Why not tell her so?"

"Would scare her off."

"You should declare your faith in public, before witnesses, with her consent."

"You're talkin' like a preacher."

"I am a preacher," Book stated.

Mal was silent.

"She loves you. You know that."

"Loves me enough to sleep with me," Mal replied. "Mayhaps not enough to marry me."

Book looked disturbed at thought of people sleeping together not married.

"Don't need your shock, Shepherd, we're grown adults, not teenagers. I'm thirty-five years old, and she's…"

Book prompted, "And she's—?"

"No idea, actually. Younger 'n me, I suppose. But a woman grown. Old enough to make her own decisions."

"And if her decision were to marry you?"

"I'd do it tomorrow."

"And if it were not?"

"Then I'd take as close to marriage as I can get, for as long as I can get it. 'Til death do part us, if she'll allow it."

"You should ask her."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

地狱 dìyù [hell]

妹妹 mèimei [little sister]

不道德 混帐 bùdàodé húnzhàng [immoral bastards]

* * *

><p><em>Tell me what you think! Is Mal crazy, to be carrying on lengthy conversations in his head with Shepherd Book?<em>


	7. Chapter 7

Bandiagara, Part 4a

_What do you do when there is nothing left to see? Ip sends a wave_.

* * *

><p>"<em>I'm like to kill you myself, I see you again."<em>

"_You won't. There is nothing left to see."_

It was a dramatic statement. Overly dramatic, really. But he had truly felt that way at the time. He'd even asked. _"You lost everything in that battle. Everything you had, everything you were. How did you go on?"_ Malcolm Reynolds had given him an answer that was not an answer, and yet it answered everything. _"You still standing there when the engine starts, you never will figure it out."_

How did he go on? He…went. He went on, and in going on, he figured it out.

He did not officially exist. He had no rank, no name. And his mission as an Operative of Parliament no longer existed. Secrets had not been his concern. _Keeping them_ had been. The government dealt in keeping its secrets. Corporations _thrived_ on keeping their secrets—and buying, selling, and trading on the secrets of others. River Tam had known a secret. More than one. River Tam had been his purpose.

Malcolm Reynolds uncovered the secret of Miranda—the truth that burned up River Tam's brain—and told it to the 'Verse. Was it still a secret if the whole 'Verse knew? Did it still concern him to keep it? _How many times did you get in trouble because of secrets and lies?_ Keeping River Tam's secret had been his purpose. Finding her to keep her hid. He had found her…and her secret found him. There was nothing left to see. _Chan 'eil càil an so a' faicadh_, in an obscure, dead language of Earth-that-was.

There were advantages. If there was nothing left to see, there were no traces. You couldn't revoke the high security clearance of someone who wasn't there in the first place. You couldn't deny the existence of someone who, like the Government Academy, did not officially exist, because to deny him, you had first to acknowledge that he existed.

He studied Malcolm Reynolds, no longer for the purpose of tracking him and running him to ground. He wanted to know how to exist when everything was lost. Malcolm Reynolds seemed to have mastered the art. Reynolds knew not just how to exist when all was lost, but how to learn to live again. The Operative learned to value his independence.

When he made the decision to let the Tams go and help Reynolds refit, he set his own new course, hardly aware at the time of just what a radical course adjustment he had made. If it was no longer his prime directive to keep the secret of Miranda, then, was it not important to _uncover_ what had happened at Miranda?

He had been an Operative of Parliament. The question now became: which faction of Parliament? He became aware, as he hadn't before, of parties in opposition. Not political parties: the factions had little to do with overt political affiliation. As he used his unrevoked security clearances to do research, the common thread emerged. There were those whose pockets were lined with funds from an unnamed, but deep and powerful source, and those whose pockets were not so lined. Very few persons or entities had funds of that magnitude, and few had so many favors to ask of the government.

Blue Sun.

All the signs pointed that way. But the question was how to connect the signs, how to build a case. Then how to bring down the shadowy colossus that bought the politicians it needed to run the government on its behalf. And further, how to bring it down without leaving a void to be filled by opportunists infinitely worse.

The Operative did not exist. Not officially. There was nothing left to see. _Chan 'eil càil an so a' faicadh_. He stayed unseen, and left the seeing to others. He placed his observers carefully. The important thing was to select the right ones. He studied them, to know what they were, where they came from, what they needed, what they wanted, what they could do when the time came to act. And then to place them in the environment that let them do so, just as he intended they do.

Malcolm Reynolds.

It was essential that Reynolds be unaware of his hand in the operation until the right moment. Reynolds was a loose cannon—but the Operative had found that that was just what he needed. Someone unpredictable—the Blue Hands couldn't tell where the man was headed next, and that was infinitely to his advantage. Let Reynolds track his own way—there was no telling what the man would find, and the Operative could follow, correlate, and analyze what Reynolds turned up. The Operative would only intervene when necessary to keep Reynolds out of the clutches of the heavy hand of the Alliance, or the more menacing entity that controlled the purse strings. Intervene only enough to keep Reynolds acting freely, so that the Operative could observe him.

Intervention had been necessary on Persephone, when Reynolds's odd sense of honor got him into trouble with the slave-owning branch of the Purse Strings. The Operative had made sure that Harrow was the magistrate and Ficker was the prosecutor. Ficker was subject to persuasion by his political supporters, and much easier to manipulate than someone without political ambitions and vulnerabilities. The Operative had blocked Ficker's access to Reynolds's military record, and records from the internment camp for defeated Browncoats. He also obfuscated any connection between Reynolds and the Tams. Ficker had not uncovered the thread. Ficker was limited to the paperwork fed to him by Blue Sun agents, and when he tried to reconnect with those who had sent him the indentures to request further information, strangely he was unable to reach them. That gave Reynolds's allies a chance to catch up.

He wasn't about to unblock the Captain's credit account, although it would have been easy. Easy, but it would reveal his existence to the opposition. Easy, but it did not serve his purpose. If the Captain were in funds, it would allow him to rest. He wouldn't keep moving, and the Operative wanted him to keep moving. It would be most illuminating to allow Reynolds the means of uncovering the answer himself, and it would be especially enlightening to see what he did once he knew.

And then there was Shadow. Now that was a most fascinating development, and one that the Operative had not anticipated. He had not known until Reynolds discovered it. _Follow the money. _ Linthicum extraction on Shadow represented vast quantities of money. Whoever was running the operation had access to enough money to corrupt large numbers of politicians. Enough to buy a political faction, to pay off local and federal law enforcement, to purchase a legal department to obfuscate, to buy judges and legislators, and to hire extra-legal protection. Reynolds would not rest until he found out what was going on there. And the Operative waited with bated breath to see what he would uncover.

Reynolds was the key. How strange that so many rivers found their confluence in this one man.

. . .

Dr Ip was on the bridge, sending a wave to someone on the cortex. Mal was aware that the young scientist kept in touch with his thesis advisor from graduate school, Dr Rao, and that he was collaborating with her on the grav anomaly experiment currently underway in Serenity's cargo bay. Ip also seemed to have several other regular correspondents. The young fellow mostly saved his lengthy waves for their planetside stops, for which Mal was grateful, as ship-to-world communications were somewhat expensive, even though Ip was careful to cover costs for his waves. Most waves were also traceable, and it disquieted Mal to no end to think that the Feds might be able to track and intercept Serenity on the basis of a crewmember's chats with friends, should it occur to them to do so. Most of Serenity's people were very spartan in the sending of waves—half of them had no family or friends to speak of outside the ship, or none that they were not estranged from. Inara sent and received many waves, but she always used the independent cortex feed in her shuttle and communicated through Guild channels that were protected by at least one layer of encryption. Mal didn't want to initiate any kind of frank discussion with Dr Ip as to why he wished to avoid drawing the attention of the Alliance to Serenity, and the young man didn't abuse his waving privileges, so an uneasy balance had been attained.

Mal approached the bridge as Ip was concluding his wave. Mal had no particular wish to intrude on Ip's personal conversations, but it was time for him to relieve the helm. "Let me know when you find out," said a male voice. "I will. 再见 Zàijiàn," Ip replied, and cut the communication. Mal entered the bridge and glanced at the cortex screen to see a "communication closed" sign with an unusual symbol in it, rather than the more typical wave ID. Something about that voice—it was familiar somehow, but Mal couldn't place it. And he sure as 地狱 dìyù didn't recognize the symbol on the screen.

"All done with your wave, Ip?" Mal asked casually. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"Oh, no, not at all, Captain," Ip smiled ingenuously. "I was just done." He stood up and ceded the seat to Mal.

"Curious symbol," Mal said conversationally, indicating the symbol that remained on the screen. "That one of your regular correspondents?"

"Yes, Captain," Ip replied. "He's sort of a mentor to me."

"University professor?"

"Oh, no. He's a Buddhist monk. A missionary."

Mal raised his eyebrows.

"I met him some time ago, when I was traveling the Rim, before I joined Serenity. He may not be a trained scientist, but he has been most helpful to me. I can discuss all sorts of issues with him, he gives sage advice, and he asks just the right sort of questions to help me direct my inquiries—my scientific inquiries," Ip clarified.

"He have a name?" Mal asked, gesturing at the screen, "or he just go by this unpronounceable symbol?"

Ip smiled. "He has a name. It's Brother Khan Ale Cal an So oh fukkit."

Had Mal just heard Ip swear? Granted the fellow's name was a mouthful, didn't blame him for using a symbol if his folks had hung a handle on him a mile long.

"That's his name," Ip replied to Mal's unspoken question. "Took me several tries even to say it, and I'm probably not pronouncing it right. It's in some ancient language from Earth-that-was, some Buddhist language, I suppose. Fortunately, he lets me call him Khan Ale Cal."

"Khan Ale Cal. Huh. I woulda swore I recognized that voice, but…"

"He told me he's met you."

"Really?" Mal had met a lot of people. Many of them in circumstances he wouldn't care to revisit—the Alliance internment camp, jail cells on various worlds, contacts for some of his more unsavory business. Still, he couldn't place the voice. "I don't know any Khan Ale Cal. Not sure I know any Buddhist monks either." He turned his attention to the helm, releasing the autopilot and running the standard system checks, dismissing Ip from the bridge. He did not dismiss the incident from his mind, however, but filed it away for later perusal. There was something about that voice.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

_Chan 'eil càil an so a' faicadh_ [There is nothing left to see (Scottish Gaelic)]

再见 Zàijiàn [Goodbye]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

* * *

><p><em>Would you be more suspicious? What's that Operative up to?<em>


	8. Chapter 8

Bandiagara, Part 4b

_Simon joins the club. How to make a meal of molded protein._

* * *

><p>Mal was bursting with pride as Simon brought Shuttle Two in for a clean, precise docking with Serenity. They'd just flown another circuit around the ship, and for the fourth time in a row, Simon had nailed it. Boy was a fast learner. Reckon that Top Three Percent brain of his was good for more than just the medical stuff. Never would do to let it show, though. He folded his arms and fixed a stern expression on his face. "Not half bad, Simon, but you forgot to power down the lateral thrusters after contact. Could damage the locking mechanism, was they to go off unexpected." He stood up. "Right, you're gonna take her out again, make the circuit, and dock. Only this time don't forget the thrusters." He headed for the hatch.<p>

"Where are you going, Mal?" Simon asked. "Captain?"

"Back to Serenity," Mal replied unemotionally. "You're cleared to solo." He shut the hatch on Simon's dumbfounded expression.

Simon returned to the pilot's seat and collected himself. Right. 一个深呼吸 Yī gè shēn hūxī. It wasn't brain surgery, after all. It was less familiar, and therefore more difficult. He reminded himself that it was just a sequence of logical steps, executed in order. He opened his eyes, ignoring the gaping maw of the Black, and pressed the initiatior. He flipped the three check switches as he began the pre-flight procedure.

. . .

Mal waited calmly until the hatch hissed shut behind him. Then he turned and sprinted to the bridge, nearly knocking into Jayne in the galley.

"Where the 地狱 dìyù you goin' in such a hurry, Mal?" Jayne grumbled after the Captain's long-gone shadow.

He took the stairs up to the bridge three at a time. "River, activate external vid and track it on Shuttle Two, 马上 mǎshàng. Pull up a virtual duplicate of Shuttle Two controls and send it down to Inara's shuttle. Send 'em both down to Inara's." He turned and bolted from the bridge.

River smiled after the Captain's retreating form. She'd been watching the lessons in Shuttle Two this morning, and already had the vid and the virtual controls on the monitor. As she pressed the button to send to Shuttle One, she had to smile again. Simon had begged their parents for a car when he was sixteen. She remembered her mother, worried, telling him how the Ojikutus had given their son an expensive hovercar for his sixteenth birthday, and how the boy —an entitled, arrogant imbecile if ever River met one—had promptly smashed it into a lamp post. She remembered her father, angrily thundering that no son of his was going to be seen driving a vehicle like a common lackey, not as long as he had the money to hire a menial to do the job. River snorted to herself as she adjusted Serenity's trim and okay'ed the course adjustment she'd pre-programmed, in response to a prompt from the ship's nav system. If only Father could see his children now.

. . .

The pilot's console in her shuttle suddenly came to life, and Inara had just pulled aside the curtain to ascertain why, when Mal burst in.

"You could at least knock," she commented acidly. "I was beginning to think I had you trained—"

He slammed the hatch shut behind him and strode across the shuttle. "Sorry, Inara," he muttered as he pushed past her and sat himself in the pilot's seat, adjusting the vid screens and quickly running through the start-up sequence.

"What are you doing?" Her voice expressed both surprise and irritation.

He ignored her and continued his workings until he had the shuttle ready to fly, then focused his attention on the vid screens. She was having trouble reading him. Was it some sort of emergency? His hasty actions pointed that way, but he also seemed nervous…and—was that pride? She looked more closely at the vid screens, and saw that one of them showed a shuttle's control panel, as someone went systematically through the standard pre-flight checklist. The other vid screen showed a grainy image from Serenity's external security camera—a lousy old piece of equipment, but it was the only thing they had. As she watched, a shuttle detached itself from Serenity's starboard side and flitted gently off into space.

"Who's flying the shuttle, Mal?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder with a nervous grin. "Simon. It's his first solo." He turned back to the monitors, and together they watched as Simon circled Serenity in a wide arc. Mal gripped the yoke with white knuckles as he watched the docking procedure, which went perfectly smooth. A precision landing. Neat as a pin. Slick as spit.

"—Mal. Mal. You can let go of the yoke, Mal. He's docked. Nicely done, too." She wrapped her arms around him from behind the chair and kissed the side of his forehead. "You've been teaching him to fly. Good work, Captain."

He turned and gave her a huge, silly smile. "Thanks, Inara," he said, and scurried out of the shuttle, bouncing like a little boy.

. . .

Simon completed the shut-down sequence, and walked over to open the hatch. His nerves were still on edge, but he also felt pride in his accomplishment. He'd done everything right—even remembering to power down the lateral thrusters. The hatch slid open, and Simon found himself confronting the Captain. Mal's face was set in a grumpy scowl, but his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were glittering. Simon couldn't read his expression.

"Not bad," Mal grunted, and punched Simon in the shoulder. He turned and stalked away.

Simon opened his mouth, shut it again, and rubbed his shoulder. He'd probably have a bruise. 混蛋 Húndàn. Then his face split into a big grin. The Captain was proud of him, and he'd just been welcomed into the club.

. . .

"Give you a hand?" Zoe offered, as she entered the galley.

"Thank you, Zoe," Inara replied, as she chopped the protein into pieces.

"What're we makin'?" Zoe asked.

"Five-spice chicken and vegetable stir-fry," Inara replied. Zoe looked sharply at her. "Well, minus the chicken. And minus the vegetables. It _is_ chicken-style molded protein. And I did find one packet of vegetable-style vitamin supplements." Inara suppressed a sigh. When she and River had purchased foodstuffs on Beylix (the first grocery shopping Inara had done in a long while, to tell the truth), Inara had been shocked at the prices of fruits and vegetables. The bulk of Serenity's foodstores were sealed packets of shelf-stable protein, pressed together in various configurations—chicken-style, beef-style, tofu-style, fish-style—but all derived from the same basic fusarium fungus, mixed with yeast, microalgae, and other supplements to complete the nutritional profile. Spices and creative modes of preparation helped, but still, the food aboard Serenity had a monotony to it. When he could afford it, Mal authorized expenditures for the more expensive fresh and preserved foods to supplement and give variety to the staple diet of protein, but this time it had been clear that they didn't have a budget for anything beyond the basics. Thanks to 仁慈的佛 réncí de Fó she had her private stores of spices and tea to supplement their diet.

Shopping for stores with River had been an interesting experience. Inara saw many things in the store she would have liked to add to their cart, but River loaded their pallet with bags of millet and bulk boxes of the cheapest available protein packets. Every time Inara so much as glanced at anything with a brand name, let alone anything with a resemblance to fresh food, River shook her head and re-directed them to the generic, no-name blue boxes unattractively displayed in a back corner. When the pallet was about half-full, River stopped loading it. Inara stepped in to help, adding one more box, but River returned it to the shelf, saying, "Reached budgetary limits. Only six platinum to spare."

Inara carried a hand-basket with her own choices, and determined to add a number of items that would make the boxes of bland protein taste better. Spices, preserved aromatics, and bottled sauces joined her favorite tea, fruit preserves, and a bottle of honey in the basket. River gave her a look as she filled her basket. "The Captain won't like it if he knew you were buying food for the whole crew."

"Well, then, he needn't know," Inara replied. "I am free to spend my own money how I choose."

River gave her an odd look.

"—Inara." Inara snapped out of her reverie to find Zoe looking curiously at her. "Chopping's done. What's next?"

"Making the sauce," she replied smoothly, wondering how long she'd been chopping on auto-pilot and marveling that all her fingers were still intact.

"What've we got to make sauce with, Inara? Seems to me we ain't got much more than soy sauce—" Zoe broke off suddenly as Inara opened her locker to reveal ginger, garlic, toasted sesame oil, rice wine, and a number of other flavorful supplements, lined up next to the tea that she always kept there. Zoe stretched her eyes, but said nothing. This explained why Inara's cook days always turned out much better food than normal.

The two women worked silently in concert to round out the menu.

. . .

Gorrammit, weren't nothin' here worth eatin', Jayne thought as he dumped the contents of the protein packets into the pot and added water. Where the 地狱 dìyù was Doc 'Noyman's crouton detector when you needed it? It wasn't that Jayne actually _liked_ eating food that smelled like crotch—well alright, maybe smelling like crotch weren't actually all that high on his list of bad things—but what was a fella to do? There weren't nothin' but soy sauce in the cabinet, and Jayne was sick of soy sauce. The food Inara made yesterday didn't taste like boring old soy sauce. She musta done something to it to make the sauce taste different. Some kind of secret Companion trick, no doubt, because there weren't nothin' in this here storage locker but soy sauce. Didn't do nothing for the taste of the food, except ta make it taste like soy sauce, and it didn't give no variety to the texture neither. Croutons woulda been good, 'cause they added some crunch, but fresh veggies woulda been better. Jayne knew he weren't no picky eater. Couldn't be a picky eater when you grew up on the wrong side of the tracks in industrial Boros. Not if'n ya wanted to grow up. Hell, he'd eat anything that could be subdued and brought to the table. He knew the Cap'n bought them processed protein packets because they were the cheapest, and it weren't often that there was money to spare for luxuries like fruit. But still, sometimes he wondered why it was that them gorram protein packets from Blue Sun were the cheapest eats on the market.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

一个深呼吸 Yī gè shēn hūxī [Take a deep breath]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

马上 mǎshàng [right away]

混蛋 Húndàn [Bastard]

仁慈的佛 réncí de Fó [merciful Buddha]

* * *

><p><em>So, would you rather eat Five-Spice Chicken and Vegetable Stir-Fry without the chicken and vegetables, or would you prefer Jayne's dump-and-boil concoction? And how about that flying lesson? Let me know what you think.<em>


	9. Chapter 9

Bandiagara, Part 4c

_Go for a nice shuttle ride…_

* * *

><p>"Kaylee," Mal called, "You busy?"<p>

"I'm always busy, this trip," Kaylee responded. She removed her goggles and carefully set down the soldering tool. She stretched her arms high above her head, lifting her light flowered shirt and exposing a wide expanse of tummy, causing Mal to turn modestly away. She smiled at him. "Whaddya need, Cap'n?"

"Time for you to take a break, 妹妹 mèimei. Come with me." He turned and led the way up the cargo bay stairs to Shuttle Two.

"Cap'n, I really oughtta be fixin' up that electric generator. All's it got is a few more connections need soldering and it's—"

"What you need is a break. You think I ain't seen how you fall face-first into your dinner plate every evening? I appreciate your workin' so hard, li'l Kaylee, but you won't do me no good if you wear yourself out and get laid up sick. So—"

"I ain't sick, Cap'n," Kaylee protested, thinking it was a good thing no one knew that she'd lost her lunch that day. Just a little tummy upset, really—not surprising, after all, it was Jayne's cook day, and it was a charitable description to call the glop that he'd made "stew." It would pass. "Just been a little tired, is all. I don't need a—"

"Captain's orders," Mal said, firmly. They'd reached the hatch to Shuttle Two, and he activated the door. "For the next half hour, you're to sit, relax, and go for a nice shuttle ride." He led her into the shuttle, right up to the seat, and it was only as she sat down that she saw past the Captain's form. Simon was sitting in the pilot's seat.

"Cap'n, I can't—"

"Sit, Kaylee. You need to get off your feet. Simon needs a passenger. 懂吗 Dǒng ma?" Mal gave them both a look that quelled any further protest, and turned away before Kaylee's sad puppy eyes could affect him. He left the shuttle, shutting the hatch behind him.

Kaylee's look hardened, and she stared out into the Black, huffing a bit and ignoring Simon. Simon glanced briefly at her, and said nothing. He pushed the initiator and flipped the three check switches, ran through his pre-flight and the start-up sequence. Then he lifted off softly, and the shuttle floated gently out into the Black before he banked it to make a beauty pass around Serenity.

He'd practiced several times daily since his first solo flight, and he soon found that the best way to avoid the sickening feeling he felt looking into the deep Black was to point the shuttle at something else. They were in interplanetary space, so the best option was Serenity herself, and he'd become quite adept at maneuvering around the ship.

This was the first time Mal had allowed Simon to fly anyone other than himself unsupervised. He didn't know whom to expect when Mal said he was bringing him his first passenger, but he was relieved it wasn't River or Zoe or even Inara, whose piloting skills would have made him nervous, and he was especially glad his passenger was not Jayne. That didn't leave many choices, so Kaylee's arrival shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did. Still, they had barely spoken since their blow-up at the dump, except when necessary for work purposes, and he felt awkward as he tried to come up with something appropriate to say. What was the proper greeting for one's estranged girlfriend towards whom one was feeling repentant and to whom one wished to apologize, yet to whom one felt it was undignified to grovel and who one felt shared the fault, perhaps equally with oneself? There were altogether too many 'ones' in that sentence for Simon to wrap his head around, and he shook himself.

"Did you see that?" Kaylee suddenly exclaimed, and Simon looked sharply at her.

"See what?"

"There's some sorta thing attached to the hull what shouldn't be there," she said. "A ways back from the starboard navsat." Simon gave her a blank look so she elaborated. "See the blue box thing with the phased array stickin' up outta it? That's the navsat. Back behind it, there's a round thing…back towards the burner."

He spotted what she was talking about, and nodded.

"Right behind it, or sorta next to it now—thanks, that's a better view," she said as Simon carefully pulsed the attitude jets to adjust the shuttle's position. "That disk with the big whip antenna—that don't belong there." She considered for a moment. "D'ya think Ip left one of his spectrum scanners outside from that time near Shadow?" She didn't have to explain any further. They both remembered how Ip's scientific investigation had ended abruptly when first a stealth ship, and then Reavers, had chased Serenity. "I woulda left everything hanging and run inside." She and Simon shared a look, remembering the tense work in the engine room while they labored with desperate energy to prepare Serenity for hard burn, hoping they could ready her before one or the other disaster struck. Blushes suffused their faces as they both came to the same point in the memory—

_Serenity was safe. "We did it, Simon!"_

"_Kaylee, you're __聪明 __cōngming." He was so happy to know they would not die as part of a Reaver banquet._

_He dropped his tools and embraced Kaylee, giving her a life-affirming kiss. The wrench slipped out of her hand unnoticed as she worked her fingers under his shirt. Their kiss deepened and, not content with the barrier their clothing put between them, they reached for closer contact. Their hands strayed rapidly over each other's bodies. Simon pulled Kaylee's shirt over her head, barely breaking the kiss as he did so, while her hands made short work of the buttons on his shirt. Several of them went flying while Simon unhooked Kaylee's bra with a practiced hand. Her hand flew to his buckle, while his reached for her zipper…_

"That was some hot sex we had in the engine room that time, weren't it Simon?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice husky with the recollection. He glanced at her. Was that all he could think of to say? _Yeah? _How had he come to be so inarticulate?

She loved it when he looked at her with those bedroom eyes. That look was better than a thousand words. It was lustful and loving, shy and inviting, and just _so _sexy. "You're really good."

His eyes widened.

"At the flyin', I mean." Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. "You done learned this—" she gestured vaguely at the pilot's console "—just this last week or so, all 'cause I taunted you 'bout not knowin' how ta drive. I'm so sorry, Simon. I was bein' mean."

"Yeah, well I was being a 混蛋 húndàn," Simon admitted. "I lost my temper, and swore at you. I'm sorry, Kaylee. My only excuse is that I was hot and tired. I—I really need to fly the ship!" He veered away from a collision course with Serenity's dining room skylight. He focused his attention on the flying again.

"Sorry for distractin' ya, Simon."

"Kaylee, I love it when you distract me—when I'm not flying a shuttle I just learned how to turn on a few days ago. Can I take a raincheck?"

. . .

As the shuttle docked, Mal stood close enough to the hatch to intervene if things hadn't gone smooth, but far enough away to melt away into the background if all had gone according to plan. The hatch slid open, and Simon and Kaylee emerged from the shuttle hand in hand, exactly as he'd intended. They turned into one another's arms and began kissing one another with passionate zeal. Alright, he didn't need to see no more to understand just how successful his plan to reconcile them had been. He busied himself with assembling the air compressor parts he'd brought along as a cover job. "We have to tell the Captain," Kaylee said to Simon, and Mal mentally jumped out of his skin as his imagination leapt to announcements of engagements or the expectation of a bundle of joy. He hadn't intended for the reconciliation to go quite so far, so fast. His attempts to blend into the background were unsuccessful as both Simon and Kaylee spotted him immediately and hastened toward him, still holding hands. "Captain," Simon began, as Kaylee said, "Cap'n, there's something you need ta know."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

妹妹 mèimei [little sister]

懂吗 Dǒng ma? [Understand?]

聪明 cōngming [brilliant]

混蛋 húndàn [asshole]

* * *

><p><em>What is that thing on the hull of the ship? :-)<em>


	10. Chapter 10

Bandiagara, Part 5a

_What is that thing attached to Serenity's hull? Who put it there?_

* * *

><p>Mal and Kaylee made a brief spacewalk to retrieve the foreign object Kaylee had spotted on her shuttle flight with Simon. Mindful of what had happened during the last spacewalk he'd made with Kaylee when the navsats failed, Mal was on the lookout for signs of sabotage or booby trap, but none was evident. If not for the fact that the object didn't belong there, it seemed benign.<p>

Mal and Zoe reviewed the security vid taken portside. It was 狗屎的 gǒushǐde footage, due to the poor quality of Serenity's aging security cam, but one thing became clear: the object _wasn't_ there when they left Persephone with the cargo of cattle, and it _was_ there when they landed on Beylix. It had somehow been acquired during the journey, so either it was something leftover from the Shadow experiments, or it had somehow been attached to the ship by stealth somewhere along the way. Ip, River, and Jayne had made the spacewalk during the Shadow fly-by on that journey, and Simon and Kaylee had been involved in prepping the scientific instruments for that spacewalk, so Mal called them all into the dining room to see if they could identify the object.

River immediately spoke. "That's not one of ours."

Kaylee agreed. "That's not anything I had a hand in prepping. See how they got the hypertronic phased array rigged? I'll have to open it up to check, but it looks like they got an indirect connection. I woulda wired it directly to the power amplifier—save energy and boost the signal."

Simon nodded sagely in agreement, although Mal suspected he had no idea what the object was.

"Don't look at me, Mal," Jayne said. "River and Ip had a dozen a' them blinky boxes set up topside—I couldn't tell one from t'other."

"Do you recognize it?" Mal asked Ip.

"Sure do," Ip replied readily. "It's a locator beacon. Just like the one I put in the lander unit I sent down to Shadow's surface. Only this one has a much bigger antenna, and a more powerful amplifier. It's designed to transmit over a huge distance. The one I sent down to Shadow—I could pick it up from near orbit, maybe, but not much farther. This one—hard to say, but it's quite possible it could be read even as far away as the Core."

"The Core?" Mal wouldn't have guessed. The device looked so simple. "So this here's not so much a locator beacon as a tracking device."

Ip looked directly into the Captain's eye as he agreed. "I believe you're right."

"Now who'd want to be tracking us?" Mal asked, almost rhetorically.

River replied with a look that startled Mal with its intensity. She said nothing, but he understood exactly what she meant.

"Can you disable the transmitter on this thing?" Mal asked Kaylee, but it was Ip who replied.

"Sure can. I used these all the time, when I worked for Blue Sun."

"Then get to work." Mal wasn't about to leave a Blue Sun tracking device on Serenity. "Kaylee, I want you monitoring this process, every step of the way. Make sure you understand exactly what Ip is doing." He shot a look at River, not that it was necessary, but it was his habit to accompany all his silent communications with Zoe with a look. _Follow every move like a hawk, Albatross. Can't afford to take any chance this tracking beacon is still working._

"It's alright, Captain," River answered, trying out a look of her own on the Captain. _He'll do the job._

_It is _not _alright, Albatross. _Mal shot River another look. _I know you like that young man, but don't let that sway you for a second. I don't know him well enough to trust all our lives to him—not yet. _"That's what's at stake," he said aloud. "Is that understood?"

"Understood, Captain," River answered.

. . .

"Understood," River repeated at the Captain's retreating back, "but not comprehended. It doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't make sense, River?" Kaylee asked, as she readied her tools. Ip shot River a look.

"Doesn't make sense to disable it."

"Sure it does, River," Kaylee answered. "Cap'n don't want nobody tracking our movements." Ip looked at her with a question in his eyes, so she added, "'Cause it ain't nobody's business where we're goin'." That seemed to forestall Ip's imminent question. Then she added, "And it certainly weren't nobody's business to put a tracker on Serenity without the Cap'n's say-so. We don't even know who done it."

"Can find out," River replied.

"Well, I don't know about that," Kaylee answered. "It weren't there when we lifted off from Persephone, but it was there when we landed on Beylix." She smiled innocently at Ip. "Guess we could just wave all the folks what live in space along the way between and ask 'em if they misplaced a locator beacon."

"Kaylee, just who do you think actually _lives_—" Ip began, before he realized he was being had.

"You are such an easy mark," River snickered.

"So it must have been attached during the course of our journey." Ip spoke with logical precision as he attempted to repair the shreds of his dignity. "There really aren't many possibilities. Only the stealth ship and the Reaver ship that chased us around Shadow were close enough to Serenity. Could one of them have—I don't know—_fired_ it at our hull? Stuck it on with some kind of—?"

"It's got a magnetic adhesive," Kaylee told them, as she examined the beacon's surface.

"Not Reaver-made or modified," River pronounced, as she cocked her head at the device. Kaylee and Ip swung their eyes to her. _How did she know?_ "Rotational symmetry." Ip and Kaylee were still staring, so River added, "Reavers prefer asymetrical designs."

"So, not Reaver," Kaylee mused, with a shudder. "Well, that kinda leaves the stealth ship. And that means we better get on with frying the electronics on this thing." She picked up a screwdriver, and offered Ip his choice of tools from her box.

"Shouldn't." River blocked Kaylee's access to the beacon's housing.

"Why not, River?" Ip asked. "The Captain wants it disabled."

"Don't bring home the beacon and fry it up in a pan," she replied, with an intense look. "Better to set it free, teach it to fly on its own. By indirections find directions out. _How_ it gets there is the worthier part."

"Sorry, River, I don't get what you just said, honey." Kaylee's eyes expressed her worry that River was lapsing into one of her less-than-lucid periods.

"Speak in English or Chinese, River, not Metaphor," Ip commanded. "It sounds like word salad when you throw something like that at us out of the blue. A person might be inclined to think you were losing your grip on sanity." Kaylee gaped at him. No one on Serenity confronted River that way. He wasn't done. "Don't fall into the Sidonius trap."

"Sidonius?" asked Kaylee, not comprehending either River or Ip at this point.

"Sidonius. Fifth century Gallo-Roman aristocrat, renowned for writing with an overload of literary devices. 'Literary artifices, applied with an unshrinking hand' is how I've heard it. Sidonius would mix metaphors with any man, and was notorious for excruciating puns. In fact, one of my professors went so far as to call Sidonius an example of 'literary pathology' and 'diseased language,' and went on to claim that his prose 'calls aloud for the amputation of platitudes, pomposities, and verbal conceits'." Ip was pleased that he remembered the exact quote—it had struck him as very funny at the time Professor Forsdyke had said it, and he'd written it down verbatim in his notes. "Not all of us here have studied ancient texts and cultures the way you have, River. We simply don't have the tools to understand all of your metaphors, and I don't think we even _want_ to understand all of your puns." He grinned at River, who, to Kaylee's surprise, grinned right back. "Besides, I thought that one was a real groaner."

River giggled. "It's better to keep it working, but send it on its way. Out the airlock. It will take a while for them to figure out it's no longer with us," she translated.

"That makes sense," Kaylee agreed, "but the Cap'n said—"

"We change course after parting ways with it," River said with a mischievous look. "It won't know where we're going."

Kaylee nodded in agreement.

"We can find out whose it is," River added.

"We can?"

"Ip can."

"I _can?"_ he echoed, his voice rising.

"Do you have a friend in marketing?"

"Marketing?" Ip squawked. "River, is this another metaphor game? Am I supposed to play 'Guess the Relevance'?"

"Marketing," River snapped. "Blue Sun marketing. Check the ID codes. Correlate with the Rewards Program."

Kaylee shook her head. She didn't get it. But Ip's eyes suddenly lit up. "Oh."

"Mind like a steel trap," River stated, looking at him.

"That's a simile, not a metaphor," Ip smiled.

"One that's been left out in the rain and rusted shut," River finished.

. . .

"Got this thing disabled yet?" Mal asked as he strode back into the dining room some time later.

"Uh, well, Cap'n—"

"Captain, we thought—"

"No," River answered, looking him directly in the eye.

"_No?"_ Mal exclaimed, astonished. "Is there any reason why it ain't done yet? Thought I made myself perfectly clear."

"We just, uh, thought of another way—" Kaylee began, but was unable to continue in the face of the Captain's thunderous look.

"It would be…better—" Ip started, but couldn't keep it up as the Captain's look was transferred to him.

"It makes more sense to keep it working." River again addressed the Captain unflinchingly.

_Insubordination! _Mal thought, as he glared at River. "I don't recall givin' you leave to countermand my decisions, River," he said with great annoyance.

"This way is better," River countered, not backing down.

_Mutiny! _ Mal had never had his orders disobeyed so blatantly. Well, not since Wash had made a regular practice of it. Or since Book had objected—or since Inara had argued—or since Zoe had told him "Yes, sir" but acted "Hell, no"—or since Kaylee had turned him from his purpose by making use of those sad puppy eyes—or since Simon had just plain refused to go along with him—oh hell, weren't a body on this boat hadn't disobeyed him. He threw up his hands, venting his frustration with this gorram disobedient rabble of a crew. "鬼 Guǐ, what do I know about runnin' a ship? I'm only the captain! So feel free to do as you please. No need to consult me."

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Captain," River replied.

"It doesn't become me?" he exclaimed. "I'll tell you what I'm becoming, River. I'm becoming seriously angry. And I'm armed."

Kaylee and Ip had already backed down, but River wasn't budging. She stood her ground, nose-to-nose with the Captain (or what would have been nose-to-nose, had he not had seven inches on her plus an extra one on account of she was barefoot). She interrupted—actually _interrupted!—_him.

"If the tracking beacon stops transmitting, _they_ will know. _They_ will conclude that it was damaged or destroyed. _They_ will deduce that we found it. _They_ will determine where we were when we found it."

"River, I am _not _listening to this insubordinate 狗屎 gǒushǐ—"

She talked right over him. "Better to keep it working, transmitting. Send it away. Like a crybaby. Can even plan its trajectory to maximize the deception."

"River—" he objected, but she could tell she was reaching him. She knew his whole tirade had more to do with the fact that their decision had been made without consulting him, than with any rational objection to the plan.

"Can also discover its broadcast frequency and signature. We can track it ourselves. That way we will know if someone comes to pick it up."

"Albatross—that's just—" he sputtered a moment "—a 聪明 cōngming plan, and it's exactly the kind of independent thinking I've come to expect from you," he finished.

River grinned.

"Make it so!" he ordered Kaylee and Ip. "I take it you already figured out the best trajectory and heading for us to dump this spyin' piece of 狗屎 gǒushǐ out the airlock?"

River nodded.

"Do it, then. And that's an order!"

River did her best to hide her giggles, and the Captain did his best to give her an exasperated glare, but he couldn't keep the mirth out of his eyes.

"Captain, would you like me to find out whose locator beacon this is?" Ip volunteered, as Mal turned to leave them to it.

"You can do that?" Mal asked, surprised.

"Well, I think I can," he replied. "Every Blue Sun-manufactured locator beacon has a unique identifying code imprinted on it. This beacon's code has been obliterated, but I probed the CPU when we had it opened up, and pulled the serial number off of it. We just need to look up the purchaser for this particular unit."

"Look up," Mal echoed. "You mean there's a list somewhere on the cortex, where you can just look up who bought this thing?" It gave him an uncomfortable feeling, truth be told, to know that someone, somewhere, was keeping track of who purchased goods like that. For what purpose? Even if it might work to his advantage this time, to find out who'd bought this gorram tracking device from Blue Sun, it made him all kinds of uneasy to think someone might find out the same kind of information about _him_ through his legal purchases.

"Not on the cortex," Ip replied. "It would be available through the records at Blue Sun Marketing Division. They track the purchasers of _everything_ through a rewards program. The rewards program is voluntary, of course, but everyone participates because the prices are ridiculous unless you do. Blue Sun Marketing tracks buyers' purchasing habits and uses the data to direct advertising toward them, as well as to regulate production and distribution of products."

Mal thought this was an argument for black market dealing, under-the-counter and off-the-record, if he ever heard one. He didn't want Blue Sun analyzing his every purchase. It was just giving away too much personal information. "So you can just look up this sales information?"

"Well, not directly," Ip answered. "I'm not a Blue Sun employee anymore. But I can get one of my friends to do it."

"Won't somebody get suspicious, we go nosin' around?"

"If _you_ went nosing around, sure. But I know someone who can just go to inventory tracking and look it up. Sales information is proprietary, not classified. Easy enough for a Blue Sun employee to find out."

"Huh," Mal responded, then settled in to watch as River, Ip and Kaylee set to work on the tracking beacon, preparing it for its journey of deception.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

狗屎的 gǒushǐde [crappy]

鬼 Guǐ [Hell]

狗屎 gǒushǐ [crap]

聪明 cōngming [brilliant]

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thanks to my sister, who is my beta reader, whose suggestions were the seed for this chapter...and a nice long chapter it is! Share your thoughts. _


	11. Chapter 11

Bandiagara, Part 5b

_The Art of Flying, and Reaver Studies_

_This one's for RionaEire, who wanted River to go on a spacewalk._

* * *

><p>"There is an art to flying," River stated, "or rather a knack."<p>

"That so, Albatross?" Mal replied, as they floated slowly out the airlock in their spacesuits, with the tracking beacon held between them.

"The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss."

Mal pondered for a moment, re-configuring his thoughts of flying from a deep-space to a planet-side perspective. "Huh," he responded, "reckon that makes sense. If you fall toward a planet from space, for instance, and miss, that just means you've put yourself in orbit. What's got you thinking such poetical thoughts about flying?"

"Wasn't thinking," River said. "Was quoting the twentieth-century philosopher Douglas Adams."

Not for the first time, Mal marveled at River's fondness for quoting ancient texts. "I'm amazed you been reading twentieth century philosophical texts, River. Sounds kinda dry and boring."

River giggled, and rolled over upside down. (Or maybe not—it all depended on your point of view. Maybe _he _was the one who was upside down.) "Not boring. _Very_ amusing."

"Hafta take your word for it, Albatross."

She rotated slowly, taking in the multitude of stars in all directions. The view from the bridge of Serenity was stunning, but limited in scope. Out here, out in the Black, nothing but the comforting form of Serenity obscured the view. "I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth…"

"You're twisting up the tether," Mal replied, but couldn't hold back a smile. Truth to tell, he felt a bit of the same awe and joy that he saw in River's face. He'd always loved the Black.

"…done a hundred things you have not dreamed of…" She stretched out her arms and legs, extending from a tuck to a pike.

River was a creature of natural grace, Mal thought. _Like a soaring bird, great wings extended, riding the currents of air…_

"…wheeled and soared and swung," River chanted, suiting action to word.

…_like an albatross_, Mal thought. Her nickname suited her in more ways than one.

"Just like an albatross," River said, speaking directly to Mal. "Highly efficient. Use dynamic soaring and slope soaring to cover great distances with little exertion," she declaimed, moving her arms and body gracefully to describe the actions. "A twenty-three to one glide ratio."

"That ain't half bad," he agreed. "The shuttle don't top that glide ratio, though a high performance glider can easily top fifty to one." With gloved hands he steadied the tracking beacon, and when satisfied that it was unperturbed, he released it, careful not to put any spin on it.

"Learned to fly, and learned the language of the birds."

"Don't get carried away, River," Mal smiled. "Get yourself into a spin, might not get you out of it again."

"A sign of great wisdom."

"What's a sign of great wisdom?"

"The power to understand the language of the birds. Sigurd roasted the heart of the dragon, burned his finger: put the finger in his mouth and understood the language of the birds. Goddess Athena gave the seer Tiresias the ability to understand the language of the birds. The mystical language of the angels in Persian poet's_ Conference of the Birds_. The secret language of the Troubadours. Heiroglyphic writing the alphabet of the birds to the Egyptians."

"Seem to recollect I heard something about a Parliament of Fowls once upon a time." He shook his head. "Reckon I'm too much of a bird-brain to conjure your meaning there, River."

"Not you," she replied, pointing at her own head. "Bird brain. Albatross brain." She extended her arms again, floating in space.

For a while the silence of the stars reigned, and he heard no sound but his own breathing. They should be getting back into the airlock, but one look at River's delighted face made him willing to stay out just a bit longer.

"He started to fall, got distracted by a piece of left luggage, and missed the ground," she explained, smiling.

"Left luggage?" Mal asked, wondering what luggage had to do with anything.

"A somewhat large, black leather hand-bag, with handles to it. An ordinary hand-bag, in fact."

"Can you get back to the tellin' me what this has to do with flyin'? Or the language of the birds? Or anything at all? Where does the hand-bag come into this?"

"In the cloak-room at Victoria Station."

"You're talkin' wild, Albatross."

She gave him a brilliant smile, like he'd just got the right answer to a riddle. "Technically, I'm _quoting_ Wilde," she said, "but I'll give you full credit."

This left him shaking his head in earnest. No telling what went on in that brain of hers. His albatross.

"Douglas Adams," she said.

_Right, the 20__th__ century philosopher,_ he thought. _The philosopher what wrote _amusing_ philosophical texts._

River smiled at him. "In Adams's book, the man learned to fly when he got distracted by a piece of left luggage, and missed the ground."

"You mean he just clean forgot to hit the dirt?" Mal chuckled, giving it right back to her. "Neglected to kiss the dirt. Didn't bite the dust. Kept flyin'."

"Kept flying."

. . .

Keeping the tracking beacon in sight, Mal eased Serenity away into her course change with the lightest touch on the attitude jets.

"Don't want to hit it with the wash," he explained unnecessarily to River.

"Wash?" River looked through him, like he was transparent as a ghost.

"The wash from the attitude jets."

River picked up a plastic stegosaurus and intoned in a sad dinosaur voice, "No Wash."

. . .

"I can honestly say I know very little about Reavers, Simon," Ip said. "Most of what I know I learned from that Miranda broadwave, just like you. You know, I worked at Blue Sun for almost three years as a research fellow. It was my first post-doctoral job, in fact, and I knew a guy who worked in Reavers—his name was Hari Nyiri, used to eat lunch with him, in fact—"

"'A guy who worked in Reavers'," Simon quoted. "Just what do you mean, Ip?"

"I mean he worked in the Reaver Studies Department," Ip said, as if it were a given that there would be such a department.

"The 'Reaver Studies Department'," Simon repeated. "You mean Blue Sun had a _Reaver Studies Department?"_

"Sure. A department devoted to the study of Reavers in all their aspects—biology, technology, habits, culture—"

"Culture?" Simon exclaimed, appalled. "Reaver _culture?_"

"I wasn't privy to the details, Simon," Ip explained calmly. "It was classified work, and I didn't have that kind of security clearance. They studied questions like, if Reavers fly without core containment, why don't they all just die of radiation poisoning? Are there female Reavers?—there are, by the way—If there are female Reavers, are they perpetually raped? Or do the female Reavers also rape others? Can Reavers reproduce, or are their genes too severely damaged by the radiation for that to be possible? Since Reavers cut on themselves, why don't they die of infections? Where do Reavers get fuel for their ships? What do they eat—strictly cannibals, or are they omnivores? Do they raid perpetually or just occasionally? How long do they live? Are there juveniles? Are Reavers enough different from other humans to be considered a separate species?"

Simon had never considered Reavers from a purely scientific standpoint—somehow, he'd been too busy worrying about the prospect of imminent death to consider them so abstractly—and his shock began to manifest itself in his expression.

Ip was continuing on in the same vein. "And since seeing the Miranda broadwave, I'm sure the researchers have added a few more questions, like, what triggers certain members of the population to turn Reaver and not others?"

"A Reaver research project! Treating it like gorram scientific research!"

"It _was_ scientific research, Simon," Ip stated drily. "There was a problem. They were trying to solve it."

"Trying to solve it," Simon returned, emotionally, "by taking unsuspecting teenagers away from their families, conditioning them with triggers to fight Reavers, cutting into their brains—"

"Whatever are you talking about?" Ip looked at Simon as if he had gone off his gourd.

Simon suddenly realized that he probably shouldn't be talking, and shut his mouth. Mal didn't fully trust Ip Neumann, and maybe Simon shouldn't trust him either.

But Ip Neumann was a sharp young man, and although he didn't always read people well, he had an excellent memory, and was very good at putting things together. "River," he stated. "You think Blue Sun experimented on your sister."

"I don't _think_ so. I _know_ so_._"

As if on cue, River drifted into the room and joined the conversation just as if she were not the subject under discussion. "They cut into her brain," she said. "They opened up her skull and cut into her brain." Ip gave her an appalled look. "And they did it over, and over, and over."

Ip stared. At last he found words and said to River in a constricted voice, "They did this to you?"

Simon answered. "They did. They told our parents it was a school—"

"It _was_ a school," River interjected with a smug and creepy smile. "Taught me how to kill Reavers." Ip gave her an utterly creepified look, as Simon continued.

"—a government-sponsored academy for gifted children."

"She was a gift," River inserted.

"It was government-sponsored? I thought you said Blue Sun," Ip broke in.

"Two by two, Hands of Blue," River chanted. "Two by two…"

"River won't say, she's too traumatized by what happened there—"

"You found me broken," River said in a small voice.

"—but she's always referring to Hands of Blue—some kind of Blue Sun secret operatives, I think."

"I never heard of Blue Sun secret operatives," Ip said. "Are you sure this is real?"

"Your own reality is what no other person can ever know," River inserted.

"Real enough," Simon answered. "They've chased us."

"How do you know they work for Blue Sun?" Ip queried.

"Ip, they've chased us—in a high tech stealth ship."

"Couldn't that be the government?" Ip was astonished with himself. A few short months ago, he never would have considered it. But since the Miranda broadwave, and the evidence that someone—government?—Blue Sun?—_someone_ had covered up what happened there, his perspective had shifted. Despite his Core upbringing, he had, without realizing it, lost his unshakeable faith in the Alliance.

"Parliament's Operative was as good as his word," River stated, looking at Ip.

Simon didn't talk over and through River this time—he spoke to her. "You know this, River?"

"Ip's friend," River answered, non-specifically. "Confirmed what he said. The Tams are no longer a threat."

Ip was having trouble following the meaning of the siblings' exchange, but nonetheless found a question he wanted the answer to. "_No longer a threat. _You mean, you _were_?"

"I broke River out of that so-called school when I found out they were torturing her there," Simon answered, looking Ip directly in the eye. "We fled. Because of this we were fugitives. The Captain took us in and kept us safe." He looked at River, who was now dancing around the room unconcernedly, fluttering like a bird. "Since Miranda, we're fugitives no longer. And River is healing."

Ip looked doubtfully in River's direction, more disconcerted than ever by her detached behavior. Unmindful of the others, River balanced on one leg and flapped her arms like wings. Simon folded his arms and blocked Ip's access to the doorway with his body. "Now you know all about us. Time to reciprocate. Tell us everything you know about Blue Sun."

Ip opened his mouth, and did.

. . .

.

.

.

* * *

><p><em>Did you enjoy the Douglas Adams, John Gillespie Magee, and Oscar Wilde quotes? The author humbly requests that you practice the fine art of reviewing. :-)<em>


	12. Chapter 12

Bandiagara, Part 6a

_The Firefly lands on the world of Bandiagara amid a shower of meteors, and Mal tries to make friends with the locals._

* * *

><p>Mal addressed the assembled crew at dinner. "I think most of you know already, our destination is Bandiagara, Juju Kamara's world. We got a load of machines and parts to sell, by her account they got a need for it, and we got a need—desperate need at this point—for cashy money. It works out right, it's win-win all around."<p>

Zoe knew there was something he wasn't saying.

Simon could be counted on to ask. "So what's the catch?"

"Bandiagara's corporate-owned."

"How can a corporation own a whole planet?" Jayne asked.

"Well, properly speakin', they don't. Bandiagara's got mineral resources—timonium—"

"What's that good for?" Jayne asked.

"Don't know exactly."

"Superconducting technology," Ip put in. "Electronics, state-of-the-art communications, stealth technology. Medical scanners. Power transmission. I'm sure there're other projects that are still classified."

"Anyways," Mal continued, "mining company came and bought up all the mineral rights about eight years ago."

"_All_ the mineral rights, sir?" Zoe asked.

"Whole planet," Mal nodded, with his arms folded. "Bandiagara World Council signed over mineral rights to Allmine Corporation. Been re-elected in a landslide every election since then."

"I wouldn't trust no mining company what causes landslides," Jayne said.

"Neither would I, Jayne," Mal agreed, "neither would I." Wisdom from the mouths of 傻瓜 shǎguā.

"Allmine is a division of Blue Sun," Ip offered up. Mal was already aware of this, and he and Zoe shared a loaded look.

It was Simon who brought the discussion back on point. "So the mining corporation controls the planet politically. Is that any concern of ours?"

"It is," Mal replied. "Corporate property. Imports and exports are a concession owned by a company name of 狐狸 Húli Network. No outside vendors allowed." His eye glinted, and his regular crew, recognizing a certain piratical gleam, immediately knew exactly what he had in mind. Ip, however, had no such knowledge.

"Isn't 狐狸 Húli Network also a Blue Sun affiliate?" Ip asked. The Captain nodded. "So, was it difficult to get a permit?" he offered, innocently.

Mal was actually taken aback at the unexpected question. "Permit for what?"

"Permit to land. Permit to trade."

"Ain't got no permit," Mal replied. "We'll be makin' an illegal landing." At Ip's shocked expression, he added, "What we're doing is illegal. But it's also the right thing to do. Besides, not like we'll be losin' any friends. Blue Sun already don't like us."

"How does Blue Sun—or 狐狸 Húli Network—enforce the exclusive concession, sir?" Zoe asked.

Mal gave a bit of a snort. "Mostly they just rely on Bandiagara being too remote, too poor, and too uninteresting for outsiders to take a bother." He scratched the side of his face, thinking that he'd been one of those uninterested outsiders himself until his conversation with Juju Kamara. "But they also have a planet-wide space traffic control system in place, tracks all approaching vessels. Mostly it's passive—it's just meant to keep the Allmine and 狐狸 Húli Network fleets from colliding. They all use standard approach vectors and all the traffic is concentrated on the side of the planet near the capital city, where most of the timonium ore is mined. It sends out an alert if any of the vessels get too close to one another as they're vectoring in, or if it detects anything out of the ordinary."

"How are you going to avoid that, Mal?" Inara asked.

Mal shared a look with River. Clearly, they had an understanding. He gave River a grin. "Wanna tell 'em, Albatross?"

"We're going to take a shower," River said, with an answering grin.

"Take a bath?" Jayne asked. "What the h—"

"A _shower_," River re-stated, emphatically.

Mal's grin grew wider. "We're gonna be part of a shower. Kaylee's gonna disable our transponder, and we'll enter on a vector with the Wolofid Meteor Shower. Anybody ain't specially lookin' for a ship, gonna see a streak in the sky like a Firefly-sized meteor. They won't be payin' no attention to the alerts from the space traffic control system 'cause the meteor shower gonna be settin' the thing off every couple of minutes, drivin' 'em crazy. We avoid the capital city, land near Juju Kamara's village on the far side of the world, ain't nobody from 狐狸 Húli Network gonna know we're there."

. . .

Since the end of the war, and the beginning of his life on Serenity, Mal had been to dozens of Rim worlds. Some were newly terraformed and newly settled, places like 泥球 Ní Qiú, Jiangyin, and Whitefall, where terraforming had yet to take hold completely, and local culture was hard-scrabble frontier mixed with whatever customs the settlers had brought from whatever world they'd come from. Some more established Rim worlds, like Hera—like Shadow once was—had been fully terraformed for longer, and there had been some time for local culture and government to develop—hence the puritanical streak on Shadow, the penchant for independent thinking on Hera. Bandiagara was a case apart. It had been terraformed for decades, but had not taken to the process particularly well. Much of the land area of the world was desert, far more than the typical planet, and although few of the world's inhabitants actually lived in the desert, many of them did live in the wide arid regions bordering the deserts, areas where rainfall was seasonal but not abundant, where weeks of hard agricultural labor could be ruined by an inopportune dust storm rolling in off the vast desert. The dry lands where much of the agriculture took place depended on irrigation from wells bored deep into the earth, tapping underground aquifers that, most fortunately for the inhabitants, did not depend upon the current state of rainfall for their fullness. This region was known as the Sahel, named for an ancient land of Earth-that-was. Many of Bandiagara's inhabitants traced their ancestry to the peoples of the Sahel on Earth-that-was, and the local culture reflected those traditions.

. . .

Mal stood on the bridge behind the pilot's chair as River vectored Serenity in for the approach to Bandiagara. It was always his place when Serenity broke atmo, unless he himself was in the pilot seat. Although it may have appeared he was simply following the ancient sea captains' tradition of conning the ship from near the helm, there was more to it than that. It was one of the most exciting times in any space flight, and Mal always felt a sort of tense pleasure as his ship performed re-entry, watching Serenity glow red with the heat and experiencing a kind of joyous anxiety as the flames of re-entry licked around the windows of her bridge. It was also one of the most dangerous moments of space flight, and as a practical matter the captain's duty was to be on the bridge ready to deal with any emergency—such as a fly-away buffer panel—before it became a fatal one. This particular entry was especially risky, because following the path of the meteor shower meant that the entry vector was unusually steep, and it also vastly increased the chance of a dangerous meteor strike. They were in for a rockety ride.

Serenity shot out of the night sky of Bandiagara from the direction of the constellation Sugum Bi, along a vector that mimicked the paths of dozens of meteors that had already fallen that night. If anyone in the capital city of New Bamako looked out into the night sky at one a.m. local time, it would be hard to distinguish that Serenity was not a meteor unless one was specifically looking for a ship. River guided the ship through the night sky and into the dawn on the other side of the world.

Serenity settled down in the pure morning light in a clearing outside the village of Fajara. Fajara was a sizable collection of rectangular mudbrick houses. Each house—or rather chamber, for none was more than one room—had a flat roof, and many of the roofs were accessed by ladder, and provided an extra space for storage or open-air sleeping. The houses were arranged in a pattern that was not apparent at ground level, for the village had grown organically from a single family compound of chambers arranged wall-to-wall around a central square. New family compounds had sprung out from the original one, budding like blocky yeast from the original unit until the village covered a large territory. At ground level, the village was a labyrinth of foot passageways between offset blocks of mudbrick walls. Within the larger courtyards and surrounding the village were a number of old shade trees, including several magnificent baobab trees, that served as the gathering places for village residents.

Mal lowered the ramp and cautiously approached the large group of people who had assembled to watch the unexpected ship land. He was not visibly armed and he approached with his hands spread wide in a peaceful gesture. Zoe and Jayne had his back, but it wouldn't matter much if he got shanked first. The villagers, mostly men at this point, approached with cautious hostility.

"Hi," said Mal, waving a greeting. His smile fell like a lead blimp on a sea of unsmiling faces. Not exactly a warm welcome. Perhaps coming out unarmed had been a mistake. No choice now but to go on. "I'm Captain Malcolm Reynolds of the independent transport ship Serenity. We've come to trade." More unsmiling looks, accompanied by unfriendly murmurs. "I have a cargo of machines and machine parts and medical supplies that y' all might find useful. Hope we can come to terms." The villagers continued to stare with silent hostility.

At last an older man stepped forward. "You work for 狐狸 Húli Network?"

"No," Mal replied. "Point of fact, I don't. As I mentioned, this ship is independent."

"You have a permit from 狐狸 Húli Network?" the village elder, for so he was, insisted.

"I do not," Mal acknowledged.

"Then what are you doing here? We trade only with 狐狸 Húli Network. Or we buy from the Government Store. There is no illicit commerce in this village."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

傻瓜 shǎguā [idiots]

狐狸 Húli [fox]

泥球 Ní Qiú [name of a world]

Sugum Bi [The Beehive (in Wolof)]

* * *

><p><em>AN: The name "Bandiagara" comes from the Bandiagara Escarpment in Mali. The name is derived from the word for the large eating bowl that communal meals are served in. The fictional world of Bandiagara is not a depiction of any real present-day country. I'm making use of phrases in the West African language of Wolof in this story. Wolof is spoken mainly in Senegal and Mauritania, not Mali—this is fiction! The Wolof words and phrases are all translated in the glossary. If you want to get an idea of the architecture of the fictional village of Fajara, this image conveys it reasonably well (remove spaces): __http: / www . travel-images. com / pht/ mali72. jpg __or maybe this one: __www . globosapiens .net /mali-travel /Bandiagara . html _

_Oh, and don't forget to leave a review. :-)_


	13. Chapter 13

Bandiagara, Part 6b

_Dealing with a hostile crowd. Also, Juggling Geese._

* * *

><p>It was a far cry from the warm welcome he had been led to expect. 狐狸 Húli Network had a stranglehold on trade on this planet, but he sure hadn't expected the locals to go along with it. Thought they'd be happy to see an independent trader. Ship full of useful things, and he was willin' to trade fair, yet the crowd at the base of the ramp was clearly unfriendly, if not downright hostile. Perhaps they suspected he was part of a sting operation.<p>

"Not interested in interfering with the workings of 狐狸 Húli Network," Mal said, as he began to understand what underlay the hostility. "Got nothin' to do with 狐狸 Húli Network, near nor far, nor the government." He thought these words would diffuse the tension somewhat and was surprised when a menacing murmur rippled through the crowd. He caught the words 'pirate' and 'slave' and hastened to counteract these ideas. "I ain't no pirate. Nor slave trader. Just an ordinary trader. I got goods to trade. I got reason to believe you folks might want 'em, might even need 'em. Ain't lookin' to gouge or sell you something you don't want. Just fair trade."

The elder spoke cautiously. "What have you to trade?"

"Electric generators. Water pumps. Bicycles. Refrigeration units. Vehicles and transport, water purification systems, air compressors, solar panels, sewing machines. Medicines." As he spoke there were murmurs of interest here and there in the crowd, but the mood was still tense and cautious. "Ain't none of it new. It's all reconditioned, I won't try to mislead you." Mal tried to follow up on the positive signs. He'd had no idea it would be so very difficult to break the ice here. "I was told you all could use such things. That they didn't make it out this way so very often. So I brought 'em here, hopin' we could trade."

"Who told you we wanted such things?" the elder asked.

"Juju Kamara."

It was as if he'd spoken the magic words. "Juju Kamara!" the elder exclaimed, his face brightening with a great smile. "Yes, she is Fajara, like me." He approached Mal and grasped his hand in both of his. "Welcome, my friend, welcome."

. . .

Jayne set to unloading some of the machinery Kaylee had assembled in flight, while Mal and Zoe discussed terms of trade with the village elder, who introduced himself as Mamadou Conteh.

"Kumba Jobarteh…Babacar Dal…Alieu Suso…" he named some of the other village elders. "Nana Kuyateh, my wife. She is also called _Jabaru_ Mamadou. It simply means 'Mamadou's wife.' I am also called _Jëkkëre_ Nana—Nana's husband."

"This is my First Officer, Zoe Washburne."

"Your wife?" Mamadou inquired, eyeing Zoe's gravid state.

"No, sir. Zoe's a widow," Mal answered, pre-empting Zoe's reply. "Her husband died in the line of duty four and a half months ago. He was our pilot. Crash landing. Saved the lives of all of us, including, as it turns out, his own unborn child."

Mamadou addressed Zoe. "Madam, it is a tragedy that one so young as you should know such loss. _Siggil ndiggale_. _Yalla na ko Yalla xare ajanà. _ _Yalla na ko yalla yërëm_. What is written cannot be unwritten. May Allah the Merciful help you find the strength you have within yourself to weather this loss and rebuild your life, and may the love of the new child heal your heart."

. . .

Now that the Captain had made friends with the inhabitants of Fajara, the landing turned into something of a celebration. More and more villagers turned out to see what kind of wonders the trade ship contained. Rumors were already spreading that this wasn't just another load of cheap cast-offs that wouldn't sell in the Core.

Most of the crew turned to, helping Jayne and Kaylee unload the electric generators, bicycles, sewing machines, and communicators that had been assembled during the flight from Beylix.

"That's strange," Ip said to Simon, as he passed him on the ramp.

"What's strange?"

"Did you see how many people are wearing 'Verse Cup T-shirts here?"

"Sure," Simon answered. "Are you surprised? People are 球迷 qiúmí all over the 'Verse, not just in the Core."

"Yes, of course," Ip said, dismissing that as a given. "But didn't you read the shirts?"

Simon took the opportunity to do so on his next trip down the ramp. Many of the villagers were wearing loud, garish T-shirts reading "Ariel Strikers, 'Verse Cup Champions 2517." When he next passed Ip, he remarked, "I'm a bit surprised that so many people here are supporters of the Ariel World Team."

"But that's not what's so odd, Simon," Ip said. "Ariel didn't win in 2517. Bernadette did. Ariel got eliminated in the semifinals."

"So they weren't 'Verse Champions?" How disconnected he'd become from the Core, Simon thought. Back on Osiris, he would have been a social outcast if he hadn't known who won the 'Verse Cup, whether or not he was a football fan. Now he realized he didn't give a good gorram who won or lost the Cup. It just didn't matter out here in the Black. Goodness, had he just had that thought? '_A good gorram_'_?_ He really wasn't in the Core anymore. How he had changed!

Ip's thoughts were rather different. The T-shirts were all reasonably new, and didn't even have a year's wear on them. He guessed that some hopeful Ariel entrepreneur had ordered the shirts in anticipation of a victory, and then was unable to sell them in the Core when the team was trounced. A year later, having somehow escaped the watchful eye of the Football Federation's licensing division, they found their way to Bandiagara on a 狐狸 Húli Network ship, to be unloaded on the local population who was unable to choose anything else.

. . .

Jayne found himself whistling as he unloaded Kaylee's machines. A verse of a song by his favorite group, The Juggling Geese, popped into his head, and soon he found himself singing.

"_Come all you singers, all here in a throng,  
><em>_I'll sing you a ditty that's turgid and long,  
><em>_With words that don't rhyme and a meter that's ruttin' wrong,  
><em>_And it's not what I'd sing when I'm sober,"_

Jayne sang, as he set down a wind-turbine generator. As he cast a look around the assembled crowd with what he meant to be a friendly smile (though it came out as more of a challenging leer), he saw that lots of the Bandiagarans were fans of The Juggling Geese, too. Who'da thunk it? Juggling Geese had been a hot commodity back on Boros about five or ten years back, and Jayne remembered the time when he'd scored a pair of prime tickets to the Juggling Geese concert, and it'd made him the most popular man in town for a spell as all the ladies vied for the opportunity of being his date for that event. Oooh, yeah, those were good times.

Jayne remembered his amusement when he'd heard Zoe's man Wash talking about Juggling Geese. Thing was, Wash didn't have a clue. He thought, honest to god, that there was actual geese—baby geese—bein' juggled. Someone had pulled a fast one on the little man. Jayne could just picture it. _Wash: Whatta y'all do 'round here for fun? Local: Juggling Geese. Wash: You juggle geese? Local: (duh) Juggling Geese. (to his pal) What planet this doofus come from that he don't know about The Juggling Geese?_ Jayne pictured this scene happening on Yinyang. The Juggling Geese practically owned that world, they had so many fans there. After all, it was where the lead singer was from, too.

Broke Jayne's heart when The Juggling Geese broke up three years ago. Right before their last concert tour. More of them gorram "artistic differences" that seemed to do in so many fine touring bands. They'd toured anyway—had to, to fulfill their contracts most like—but their heart weren't in it no more, and the music weren't no good no more, neither. Jayne was sure there was lots of unsold music waves, lots of unsold concert T-shirts—good gorram! That was it! The Bandiagarans prolly never heard of The Juggling Geese, neither. Just some ship come and dump the surplus on them, 'cause they couldn't sell it nowhere else. Filled with nostalgia, Jayne wondered if one of the villagers would trade him a Geese T-shirt. Never got a chance to get one, back in the day.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

狐狸 Húli [fox]

_Jabaru_ Mamadou [Mamadou's wife (in Wolof)]

_Jëkkëre_ Nana [Nana's husband]

_Siggil ndiggale_ [Condolences].

_Yalla na ko Yalla xare ajanà_ [May Allah keep him in paradise].

_Yalla na ko yalla yërëm_ [May Allah take pity on him].

球迷 qiúmí [football fans, crazy about soccer]

* * *

><p><em>AN: In this story, if it's not in English or Chinese, it's in Wolof, a West African language. Jayne's song is adapted from "The Folksinger's Lament" by David Diamond. The song is a real hoot! (Look it up on youtube.) Thanks to Chezchuckles for helping me figure out how to format the song verses. (If you read in the Castle fandom, you should read her stories; they are superb.) And I do hope you will leave me a review._


	14. Chapter 14

Bandiagara, Part 7a

_The state of trade on Bandiagara. Simon opens the doors of his clinic._

* * *

><p>"Your visit to us is illegal, of course," Mamadou said, as he poured his guests cups of ditah juice. "Technically, I should report your arrival with a shipload of contraband, and hold you in custody until the authorities from New Bamako come to take you away."<p>

"Are you gonna?" Mal asked boldly, knowing the answer.

"Certainly not, Captain. Your cargo is like manna from heaven. The last thing I want is for the authorities in New Bamako to come and confiscate it all."

"Don't 狐狸 Húli Network bring you the things you need?" Zoe inquired, sipping the dangerous-looking green liquid. It was surprisingly refreshing.

"No, madam, they do not. They bring us the things _they_ need to sell. They have an exclusive deal, arranged with the Bandiagara World Council in New Bamako. It generally works to the disadvantage of Bandiagarans, but 狐狸 Húli Network makes certain it works to the personal advantage of the Councilors.

"Our needs are few and basic," Mamadou continued. "We need clean water. Medical supplies. Basic infrastructure, like roads we can still travel on when it rains. Basic technology, robust machinery that we can maintain ourselves."

"That sounds simple enough," Mal remarked, drinking the bright green ditah juice. He was glad they sat in the shade, because even by mid-morning, the heat was becoming intense.

"Well, it is not," Mamadou remarked sharply. "What we get is cast-off cheap junk that nobody wants on the 'civilized' planets. They figure the Bandiagarans will buy it and be grateful. They sell for reasonable prices, and feel good about themselves for seeing to the needs of the poor. Their Bandiagara business is the basis for a PR campaign back in the Core—my wife's cousin who moved to Londinium tells me that 狐狸 Húli Network is highly regarded by many Core people for their charitable intentions towards the backward masses who live on remote Rim worlds."

"What an offensive load of 废物 fèiwù! Core 傻瓜 shǎguā with their patronizing attitudes!" Zoe exclaimed, while Mal snorted. Shadow had been offered some of the same kinds of "charity" back in the day, and the well-intentioned Core folks who offered it had not understood why the Shadow World Council had rejected their offer.

"The other thing we get," Mamadou continued, "—and this is from some of the more thoughtful Core people, the ones who understand that we need clean water and a reliable electrical grid—is high-tech, high maintenance solutions. A few years ago, a humanitarian group in Osiris raised funds and bought permits to import an electrical generator and grid system large enough to power the needs of the entire village of Fajara."

"That actually sounds like a good plan," Mal replied. He had seen that the village was noticeably not electrified. No cortex sportswaves, no musicwaves blaring, no artificial light sources in the mud brick houses. "It didn't work out, I take it."

"They brought in a large generator, state-of-the-art, very fine indeed. A shipload of volunteers from Osiris lent their expertise to install it, and for three weeks it worked beautifully. Then we had a dust storm roll in from the Zahir Desert, and the machine seized up. We have tried to fix it, but we haven't been able to get it to run again." Mal made a mental note to ask Kaylee to take a look at the thing. "It sits in the middle of our village, simply taking up space. A machine such as that might work well enough in the Core, where spare parts are easy to come by and an army of specially trained technicians can easily be hired. But here—yes, we have mechanics here, good ones—but our Baaba and our Bintou have to be jack-and-jill-of-all trades. They must be able to fix everything from refrigeration units to wind turbines to internal combustion engines. They cannot afford to specialize."

Mal and Zoe discussed terms of trade with Mamadou, his wife Nana, and several other of the Fajara village elders. The Fajarans were cash-poor, but they had local products to trade. Most abundant was fresh produce—tropical fruits and vegetables—and Mal immediately began thinking of how best to adapt Serenity to carry such a cargo, and where he could take it to market before it spoiled. The villagers also made beautiful cotton fabrics, both prints and tie-dyed, and excellent basketry. Of course timonium was an option, but the Firefly just wasn't well suited to carrying timonium ore, neither in its unprocessed nor partially processed form. It just didn't have the capacity to carry bulk commodities. Mal wondered if any of the timonium ore was refined on Bandiagara, because carrying a more concentrated form of the mineral might be more feasible.

On their way back to Serenity, Mamadou and Nana showed Mal and Zoe the generator. It was huge and it did indeed occupy an inconveniently large amount of prime space in the village. No one would have begrudged the machine its space if it had been working, but since it didn't, and hadn't for years, it was an eyesore. As they passed to the outer rings of the village, Mamadou showed them the village council building, mosque, and schoolhouse, presently unoccupied as the heat of the day came into full force. They trudged through the field where they'd landed Serenity, where several women hastened to finish their agricultural work before the heat of the day forced them to retire for the afternoon.

Zoe scanned the field with narrowed eyes. "What're those women carrying on their heads?" she asked.

"They each draw a bucket of water from the well," Nana answered. "The head is an excellent place to carry it."

Zoe marveled at the women's balance—and their neck strength. She had never believed that old saw about the weakness of women. But she also noted the fact that the water had to be carried a considerable distance by hand, and that the well (which they had passed by on their way) was also hand-drawn, bucket by bucketful. These women's strength was not being efficiently used.

Anywhere that was not planted, irrigated and tended, the land was dry and parched, and very little vegetation clung to the soil, just a few dusty weeds. There were places where the bare rock was exposed, and places where the heavy rains that came seasonally had eroded deep gullies. They passed through an orchard of sorts and Mal noted with interest the lines of rocks running crosswise to the gentle slope of the land. When he asked, Nana explained. "That is for soil conservation. Our soil is very vulnerable. The land here is very dry. When the life-giving rain comes, it also washes away the soil. These lines of rocks trap the soil, so that it does not all run down the slope. During the dry season, they also collect wind-blown soil. Our soil is precious, and we try to encourage any practices that preserve and enrich it." Mal was thoughtful. The germ of an idea that had planted itself in the back of his mind on Beylix, and sprouted and grown on the journey, now came to full fruition. The time was ripe.

. . .

While Mal and Zoe were talking terms with Mamadou and the other village elders, Simon saw his first patient. A child, about two years old, was carried by his mother to the foot of Serenity's ramp. The child's condition, though not life-threatening, was debilitating, and Simon had the means to remedy it. A simple surgical procedure, followed by a brief course of antibiotics, and the prospect of lifelong debility would be lifted from the child's shoulders. He invited the boy and his mother into Serenity's infirmary.

Fatou Kiné carried little Alpha up the ramp and into the ship, following the man who said he was the ship's doctor. Alpha had been a healthy baby and a happy toddler, but as he grew, instead of walking more steadily, he began to stumble. A few months later, he could not walk at all. Finally, the lower half of his body was nearly paralyzed. Mrs Kiné was mystified as to how the paralysis had come about. There was no illness, no snakebite, no injury to cause the problem. Fajara had no doctor resident. The nearest doctor was halfway to New Bamako, and no one in Fatou's near or extended family could spare the time or afford the cost of the journey there. As she stepped into the cargo hold, she nearly dropped dear Alpha. It was like the Cave of Wonders in the tale. Water pumps, generators, small engines, and the sewing machine of her dreams—mountains of treasures, piled high. The last trade ship to land in Fajara had carried nothing but plastic flip flops and odd-size T-shirts with the irrelevant label 'Inside Out' printed on them—right-side out, of course.

The doctor asked her to set her son down on an exam table in a sparkling clean clinic. He asked her and the boy a number of questions, taking a history of the illness. "Your son has a tethered spinal cord," the doctor said. "It's a fairy common congenital anomaly—meaning he was born with the problem; it didn't come about as a result of illness or injury. I'll need to take a scan of his spine, and then surgically detether the spinal cord from the spinal canal. The procedure to correct the problem does not take long. He won't even have much of a scar, because I can use the laser scope."

Simon was particularly glad that he had experience doing endoscopic neurosurgery, and that among Serenity's relatively few high-tech medical gadgets was a portable MR imager and a good surgical endoscope. "He'll need some recovery time, then he'll learn to walk again, and re-build his muscles."

The kind doctor set about preparing his surgical tools and medicines, while a beautiful lady in rich clothing set Alpha on a clean white bed, asked him to roll onto his tummy, and set about washing Alpha's lower back. Fatou was permitted to watch the procedure, and in less time than she could have imagined, it was over. The doctor gave Alpha a shot. "It's an anti-adhesive, to prevent the scar tissue from forming and tacking the spinal cord back onto the lower vertebrae," Simon explained, glad that Serenity carried adequate supplies of this essential post-surgical medication. It was a point of pride with Simon, that his surgeries left less intrusive scarification, as a result of his careful application of anti-adhesives and collagen antistimulants.

He handed her a small container with pills. "He must take two of these a day, until they are used up. It should prevent infection. Before you know it, he'll be running around again like other children."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

狐狸 Húli [fox]

废物 fèiwù [garbage]

傻瓜 shǎguā [fools]

* * *

><p><em>While Mal and Zoe set up the terms of illegal trade, Simon's impromptu clinic opens its doors, and the review button just down there awaits your mouse click.<em>


	15. Chapter 15

Bandiagara, Part 7b

_Simon sees his first patient, and Mamadou celebrates the return of electric power by taking a wave from his cousin Juju._

* * *

><p>The Captain, walking past the infirmary door, saw Simon and Inara tending to a young boy and his mother. "Had your first patient, I see," he said to Simon, acknowledging Inara with a smile, and greeting the boy and his mother. "You'll be feeling better in no time," he said kindly to the boy. "I've had occasion to test the doctor's services many a time myself, and he always fixes me up fit as a fiddle." He gestured for Simon and Inara to step outside the infirmary with him for a moment.<p>

As soon as they were outside, Mal asked Simon, "What was your agreed upon price?"

"Mal!" Inara exclaimed, while Simon looked shocked.

"Captain—" Simon began to protest, but Mal cut him off.

"Can't afford to operate no charity clinic here, Simon. Mrs Kiné knows that, too. She got a problem payin', she can take it up with the village elders. They got a system for that here."

"I will not deny medical care to those who need it, Captain, particularly when they need it so desperately," Simon said forcefully.

"Ain't askin' you to deny nobody care," Mal retorted. "You treat anybody and everybody what needs it, as long as we got the medical supplies to do it with—so long as they pay."

"Mal, how can you be so cold-hearted about this?" Inara exclaimed. "This isn't some business transaction—"

"The hell it isn't," Mal interrupted.

"—these people _need_ medical care," she continued.

"And we need to eat," Mal returned. "Simon, you can't give away your medical services, and you can't give away the medicines. And that's—"

"I will not go against my oath as a physician and surgeon," Simon interrupted. "It is my duty to provide care to those who need it. I save lives first. Filthy lucre comes far, far down the list of things I worry about."

"Let me tell you something about filthy lucre, Simon," Mal said with fire in his eye. "Survival is pretty gorram hard if you don't got none. I have a _duty_, as Captain of this boat, to see that my crew don't starve. To see that the boat don't drop outta the sky. I have a _duty_," he repeated, as Inara began to protest, "an obligation, to pay my crew—one I ain't been able to meet recently, to my shame. It's my duty to find work, paying work, for Serenity and her crew. To keep flying." He spoke with low intensity. "We are hand-to-mouth ourselves, and we cannot afford to offer charity to the whole—"

"Like with the slaves on 泥球 Ní Qiú?" Simon shot out.

Inara could see the barb had struck Mal deep. "Well, yeah, you see, that one just about ruined us. We are still payin' the price for my decision to take on that job for no pay. We don't make good on this Bandiagara venture, we are dead in the water."

Inara knew it was true. She had examined the ship's books only a few days previously.

"If I had 泥球 Ní Qiú to do over again, I wouldn't do it no different," Mal continued, "but much as I'd like to starve and all, I got a crew to look after. Zoe and I discussed the prices with the village elders, and we all agreed. We ain't gouging nobody. Just askin' fair pay for fair work. We didn't get those medicines for free, Simon, and those medicines didn't get transported to Bandiagara for free neither. It cost us, and there ain't nothin' immoral about askin' those who get the medicines to recognize that fact."

Mal paused and breathed deeply. Inara felt fully how difficult a position he was in—even as her instincts told her Simon was right to insist that he would not deny care to impoverished people who couldn't pay, she understood that Mal was not wrong, either. She had not understood how desperate Serenity's financial situation was, until Mal pointed it out. Somehow they had always landed on their feet, before—and now she understood that it was because Mal worked extremely hard to land them on their feet. She felt obligated to mention one more thing. "How can they pay, Mal? There's hardly enough cash in this village to pay for even one operation."

"Don't expect coin. They can pay in goods and services. Long as I leave this planet with something I can sell for cashy money someplace else, I'm happy. Enough to keep flying, 's all I ask." He looked at Simon and Inara, and knew they had given their agreement. His face quirked in a half-smile and he said, "I'm lookin' forward to gettin' paid in food, myself. They got excellent produce here in Fajara. Pineapples, mangos, bananas, watermelons, limes and papayas…" His words had all their mouths watering. "You just go back in there and ask Mrs Kiné there how many pineapples she thinks that operation was worth."

. . .

One of the first trades made was for an electric generator that went to the village council building, which, like the schoolhouse and the mosque, sat outside the cluster of houses that made up the heart of the village. Jayne muscled the piece into position, and Kaylee installed it with the help of both Baaba and Bintou, the Fajara mechanics.

"This here's the access panel," Kaylee explained. "Used ta be on the bottom of the generator, but I didn't the see the point of that. Have ta shut the whole thing down, get a crew of people—or one really strong one," she amended, thinking of Jayne, "to roll the thing on its side just ta fix it—that didn't make no sense. So I refitted the casing. That way you can get at all the moving parts easy. Make it easy to clean if it gets clogged with dust." The two mechanics nodded. During dry season, dust was the bane of machinery on Bandiagara. During the briefer wet season, it was mud. More than one good machine had been killed by dust.

"Now that is thoughtful design!" Bintou exclaimed. "We had a generator that…"

"Bintou, that one never was designed to work in this environment," Baaba interrupted. "It was a miracle it even functioned as long as it did. That one was designed to be placed in a sterile, air-conditioned room—" Both the Fajaran mechanics burst into laughter.

Kaylee joined in. "And there ain't no sterile air-conditioned room in this place, and if'n there were, you wouldn't be keepin' no generator in it," she said. "It was the same on Harvest, where I'm from. Used ta do a lot of business just clearing dust outta the workings, at my daddy's repair shop," Kaylee related. "I figured in a dry place like this, y'all would have a like problem."

. . .

As soon as the new generator was installed, Mamadou celebrated by turning on the village cortex screen. Yes, they did receive the signal, even here in Fajara, but what good was that when most of the time there was no power to run the device? It was so exciting to have the cortex working again that Mamadou stayed in the village office right through the hot part of the day, when he normally retired to his house or the shade of a good tree for a nap.

First, he attended to his duty and checked for messages. A number of them had built up since the last time they'd had electric power in Fajara, and cognizant of his responsibilities, he attended to the official ones first. There were the usual assertions of authority from the World government, the feel-good messages that amounted to nothing more than advertisements from Allmine and 狐狸 Húli Network, and the customary admonishments to report any persons attempting to trade illegally on Bandiagara. There was one personal message from his cousin Juju Kamara. After skimming perfunctorily through the official messages, Mamadou settled in to savor his cousin's greeting.

Since live communications were next to impossible, recorded messages were the principle means of communication between families thus separated, and over the years, each had perfected the art of verbal letter-writing. After responding to his last wave and giving news from her family and other Bandiagarans on Beylix for Mamadou to pass on to their relatives, Juju went on.

"I think you can expect a visit before long from some friends of mine, cousin. Captain Reynolds—the very same man who delivered the long-awaited herd of cattle I told you about—was quite interested when I told him about the state of things on Bandiagara. He paid very close attention when I described the things needed in Fajara, and I am certain that you can expect him to pay a visit within a few weeks or months at the outside. He is a good boy, or young man I should say, and it is clear that he was properly brought up. He has a loyal crew, and they are loyal with good reason. He is a capable leader, conscientious, modest, and polite."

Mamadou raised his eyebrows at her glowing description. Had his good cousin fallen for the Captain? Cousin Juju, for all her serene dignity, had a weakness for young men. No, not _that_ kind of weakness. She was an inveterate matchmaker. She could never resist. Mamadou listened as she continued with her story.

"I invited the Captain and his crew to our house for Friday dinner, and the most romantic thing happened! The Captain introduced us to a most beautiful lady, Miss Inara Serra. It was abundantly clear that the Captain was head over heels in love with the lady, whose gracious acceptance of his attentions indicated her encouragement of his suit. He informed me of their courtship, and when I asked if he did not intend to marry her—what do you think happened? He asked her right on the spot! Told her nothing would make him happier than to be married to her. She smiled her acceptance of his proposal, so modest and demure. It was so joyous! I suppose I need not tell you how delighted I was to be the catalyst of that proper and fitting conclusion to their courtship."

Mamadou smiled in spite of himself. Cousin Juju was responsible for pushing more than one couple together, including himself and his own wife. He smiled again, thinking about his contentment—more than thirty-five years of marriage, and he might not have worked up the gumption to ask Nana to marry him all those years ago, if Cousin Juju had not pushed and prodded at just the right moment.

"I do not know if they will have had an opportunity to marry before they reach you," Juju continued. "Perhaps they may even have a Bandiagaran wedding!"

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

泥球 Ní Qiú [name of a world]

* * *

><p><em>Your feedback is most welcome.<em>


	16. Chapter 16

Bandiagara, Part 8a

_Feasting and dancing and music._

* * *

><p>Mamadou closely observed the Captain and Inara over the course of the day. He spoke to his wife, and Nana agreed with his conclusion. What his cousin Juju had said was true. It was clear as daylight that the Captain was in love, and that the lady returned his regard. Over the course of the day, the two indicated in hundreds of subtle ways how close, how intimate they were. Mamadou caught them in several tender gestures—nothing unfitting, oh, no—but the kind of touches exchanged in public only by people who are physically intimate in private. He concluded that they were newlyweds, and although disappointed of a Bandiagaran wedding, he thought a Bandiagaran celebration was in order.<p>

. . .

Nana spread the large mat on the ground. White fish benachin was a very festive dish, and she'd spent a good part of the day preparing it. The freshly caught fish was cleaned and gutted, then she'd stuffed it with spices and prepared the cassava, pumpkin, cabbage and bitter tomato to accompany the fish. She softened the dried tamarind, and boiled some _bissap_ leaves. The _bissap_ she ground in a mortar, with spices. The tamarind was added to onions, pepper and garlic, and pasted into another sauce. She set out the colorful platter in the middle of the mat and covered it with a mountain of cooked rice. She seated her guests around it, then presented the cooked fish with a flourish, distributing the fish and vegetables equitably, adding _bissap_ paste and crunchy rice from the bottom of the cooking pot to garnish the dish, and drizzling the tamarind sauce over the whole.

"Enjoy," she said to her guests, with a big smile. _"Bon appétit."_

"Thank you for your hospitality, Nana, Mamadou," Mal said on behalf of the whole crew, as he dug into the dish in front of him with his right hand. "I washed it," he whispered to Inara.

She nudged him in the ribs, then reached in with her own right hand. She'd washed it, too, of course, and she sincerely hoped all the others sharing this platter had done so. Especially Jayne. She watched with contained amusement as Ip searched in vain for an eating utensil of some sort and did a double take when he realized there was none and that he was expected to eat with his hands. The young man's Core upbringing (and Inara had to admit, hers as well) had not prepared him for a situation like this and he nearly committed a social faux pas when he reached toward the platter with his left hand. Inara watched as River intercepted Ip's hand and wordlessly directed him to a more socially acceptable solution. Inara realized Mal shared her quiet amusement, and looked at him.

"Hardly seems fair," he said in a low voice. "Dr Ip's left-handed, now he's got to eat gracefully with the wrong—that is to say, the right—hand."

"I'm lucky I'm right-handed," Inara replied, also low. "My schooling didn't cover how to eat a formal dinner politely with your hands. I've been improvising."

"Your schooling clearly covered how to pick up on social cues, Inara," Mal returned. "You're as graceful in eating with your hands as in everything you do." He saw that their hostess was closely watching their exchange, and turned his attention back to Nana. "What is the name of this delicious dish?"

"White fish benachin," she answered. "It's my specialty."

"My Nana makes the best benachin in Fajara," Mamadou boasted.

"Best I've ever tasted," Mal answered with a wink, and everyone laughed. "What kind of fish is this?"

"It's a local river fish," Nana replied.

"River. Fish," River stated abruptly. "Fish, River!" She began to titter. "Captain cooked in a sauce."

"What is it called?" Mal asked quickly, to distract from River's odd behavior. _Shut up, Albatross._

"_Capitaine grillé."_ Nana thankfully had not noticed, or chose to ignore, River's stifled giggles.

Mal directed a blank look at Inara, but it was Ip who translated the strange language for him. "It means 'Grilled Captain'."

. . .

"I hate to tell Jayne, but _bissap_ ain't alcoholic."

Dinner was over, and the celebration had carried on into the dark evening, with the village griot—a storyteller, praise-singer and historian all rolled into one—and a band of traditional musicians coming to brighten the festivities, which took place around a flickering fire in one of the village gathering spaces.

"What is it, then?" Inara asked. She sipped her own glass of the beverage, but it was unlike anything she'd ever tasted. Floral and spicy and exotic. She leaned back contentedly against Mal's solid body.

"Hibiscus flower tea, with a few other things thrown in. They don't do alcoholic beverages here in Fajara." Mal looked over at Jayne, who was getting increasingly uninhibited as the evening wore on. "Hate to spoil his fun."

"He seems to be getting drunk on the placebo effect," Simon observed.

"Oh, he's just havin' a good time bonding with the guys." Kaylee had her own suspicions, having grown up in a much less sheltered way than Simon, and—she realized with surprise—the Captain, who'd been a good boy on a puritan world before the war, and even Inara, whose Academy training, though wide-ranging, was all about refinement and good taste, and likely didn't involve lessons in how to sneak illicit liquor past the noses of authority. She didn't know how they'd done it, but she reckoned those fellas—and there seemed to be fellas like that anywhere—had found themselves some kinda way to brew some hooch, despite the no-alcohol culture of the village. She was as near certain as 牛屎 niú shǐ their pitcher of _bissap_ was spiked. No wonder Jayne had gravitated their direction. 'Course, it was still funny, 'cause Jayne had no idea the village was dry, and he was assuming everyone else's juice cocktails were high-test as well.

. . .

Zoe leaned back and sipped the fancy drink out of a tall glass. It was a multi-hued orange and red concoction with swirling layers that mixed like the colors of sunrise. All it needed was a little pink umbrella sticking up out of the glass and she could imagine she was reclining at a resort spa—say, on Rio Beach.

"The hell, Zoe, thought you wasn't s'posed to drink that stuff when you're all knocked up," Jayne slurred at her, swaying pleasantly to the music.

"The hell, Jayne," she returned, downing her drink. She wasn't about to tell him that it was mango and pomegranate juice, artfully presented. Let him imagine it was exotic liquor. Zoe requested another drink, this one dangerous green in color. She knew the principle ingredient of this one was ditah juice.

Jayne stretched his eyes. "Should tell the Cap'n, I should," Jayne said. "You'll stunt the child's growth."

"I know how to kill you with my pinky finger," Zoe replied, gesturing menacingly with said digit but otherwise not moving a muscle.

Jayne threw in the towel. "The hell is that, anyhow? Absinthe or somethin'? Can I get one?"

. . .

River fashioned a tiny pink umbrella out of folded paper, and set it in the edge of her glass. The musicians kept up a steady, infinitely varied rhythm with djembe, dumbek, and shakera, while the kora player worked a musical pattern on his strings, a kind of riff with variants prescribed and improvised, over which lay the melodic rhythm of the susa, a stick-fiddle with a resonant gourd, played with a bow. The singer—the griot—improvised verses over all of it, verses whose words River didn't comprehend. They were in Wolof, the local language, and she hadn't yet heard enough of it to decipher much. The words "Serenity" and "Reynolds" featured prominently in the griot's song, and River knew he was telling the story of the ship's arrival and the treasures in her hold. She didn't comprehend. She _understood_.

There is a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

Time to dance.

She handed her drink to a surprised Ip, and got up to join a small group of dancers around the fire. River began to move, her complete understanding of the local style evident in her movements, as she used her body to express exactly what the music was saying. Ip watched her, mesmerized.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

牛屎 niú shǐ [(cow) shit]

* * *

><p><em>So, what do you think? Good feast? Can you hear the music? Comments and reviews welcome.<em>


	17. Chapter 17

Bandiagara, Part 8b

_More dancing…Mal and Inara show each other the stars._

* * *

><p>Mal held Inara close and they swayed in time to the fascinating rhythms of the music. It was the nearest they'd come to dancing since that shindig on Persephone—the one that ended with the punching, that led to the stabbing with swords. There were others dancing around in the firelight, but they were the only two dancing as a couple. There was nothing awkward about it—Mal had a feeling, he couldn't say why, that Nana and Mamadou approved. Why that should make a difference, he couldn't comprehend, but it was good to know that he wasn't causing trouble or offending local sensibilities by standing up with Inara.<p>

Even as he held Inara and breathed in her scent, the captain-y part of him automatically registered the presence and well-being of every one of his crew. Zoe was sitting comfortably in the firelight, sipping yet another exotic-looking juice cocktail, her hand ghosting her belly and her gaze directed inward.

Simon and Kaylee were sitting hand-in-hand and shoulder to shoulder, near Zoe but in their own world, talking quietly to each other and communing in ways unspoken.

Jayne had gravitated towards the musicians and looked like to burst into song himself at any moment, 'cept he didn't know the words.

River, she was dancing like she was born to it, in perfect harmony with the music, and Mal was surprised to see that Ip had joined her, and danced by her side, looking less like a fish out of water—or a Core boy on a Rim world—than Mal ever could have imagined. He seemed to have caught River's rhythm, and moved in concert with her. As Mal watched, they gravitated towards the edge of the dance, into the flickering shadows, and kissed.

Mal was just beginning to think what he should oughtta do about that when Inara reclaimed his wandering attention, brought him back to their dance, and he lost sight of everything else but her, and him, and the black starry sky above them both.

. . .

As the celebration began to wind down, Mamadou guided the couples of Serenity to their nighttime accommodations. Jayne was still going strong, sitting by the fireside, singing along with the griot, bonding with the local guys and downing _bissap_ like it wouldn't cause him a hangover. River was still dancing, with her head thrown back, taking in the stars, an expression of joy on her face. Ip watched her, entranced. Zoe, pulled down by the intense sleepiness of early pregnancy, had long since retired to bed.

Mamadou led them through the narrow alleyways of the village, discreetly pointing out the directions to the "long drop" in case they should need to use the facilities. At length he stopped by the wall of one of the larger mud brick constructions, where a sturdy wooden ladder rested against the wall. "Dr Tam and your intended bride here please," he said. Simon blushed, but Kaylee smiled and whispered, "I told him we were engaged to be married, Simon, so there wouldn't be no fuss about them having to scare up more accommodations than we need." Simon gave Kaylee a gentle squeeze of the hand, and merely said, "Thank you, Elder Mamadou. I'm sure we'll be comfortable." He helped Kaylee mount the ladder, and scrambled up after her.

Mamadou turned to Mal and Inara, and led them around one more corner to another ladder, this one made of two long poles polished smooth by the rubbing of many hands, with rungs lashed in place with sturdy ropes. "Our best guest quarters, Captain, for you and your wife." Mamadou finished with a small polite bow to Inara, which is why he missed Mal's start of surprise. "May you sleep well."

"We, uh—" began Mal uncomfortably, hands rising in a fidgety gesture.

"We thank you for your gracious hospitality, Elder Mamadou," Inara broke in, smoothly capturing one of Mal's flapping arms and using it to propel herself up the ladder. Mal simply nodded at Mamadou and followed Inara up the ladder.

. . .

The top of the mud brick building was smooth, with a low smooth wall around it. In the flickering light of the lantern, Inara could see a mattress of soft batting, like a futon. Two cylindrical pillows and a quilt completed the furnishings. It was simple, but inviting. The searing heat of the day had long since dissipated, and the breeze that gently tousled Inara's hair was cool. Mal climbed over the top rung of the ladder and stood on the rooftop, taking in the accommodations with a somewhat stunned look on his face. The sleeveless gown Inara wore no longer felt adequate, and she shivered in the breeze. She quickly removed it and crawled under the quilt. "Please, Mal, keep me warm."

She was sure he was blushing, but in the flickering light of the lantern it was impossible to tell. He walked to the far side of the bed, folded himself down onto the low wall, and removed his boots. He leaned over and snuffed the lantern, and in the anonymity of the newly found darkness, he removed the rest of his clothing and lay down under the quilt next to Inara. She slid over just enough to feel the warmth of his body next to hers but did not initiate any other contact. He stared up at the brilliantly starry sky, and so did Inara.

It was stunning, actually. Inara had grown up on Sihnon, the Jewel of the Core. She loved her home world, with its gracious urban spaces dotted with emerald parks and their carefully sculpted natural beauty. At night, Sihnon was an ocean of light—sparkling city lights with a magical beauty unrivaled in the Core. She had never noticed the stars. Here in Bandiagara, the lack of reliable electric power meant that nothing got in the way of the brilliance of the night sky. Inara had never seen so many stars in such an overwhelming array. Despite spending so much time "in the Black," she realized how little time she actually spent looking at the stars, and when she did, she only took in the small slice of sky that was visible through any given window. Here, with stars stretching from horizon to horizon, and no urban lights to wash them to insignificance, the stars dazzled her. Arching high overhead, the two spiral arms of the galaxy spread like spilled diamond dust, with countless millions of faint stars glittering distantly. Next to her, Mal drew breath and she was sure he was about to—

A bright white streak shot across the sky, starting midway up the dome of the sky in the direction of Inara's feet and streaking off toward the horizon to her right, where it winked out. A moment later a fizzing sound reached her ears. "仁慈的佛 Réncí de Fó," she exclaimed. "Was that a ship?"

"Meteor," Mal answered. "We've arrived just in time for the peak of the Wolofid Meteor Shower, and we got prime seats." He arranged his arm around Inara's shoulders. "You never seen one before?" he asked.

She hadn't. And before they knew it, he was talking easily of his boyhood on Shadow, about the time he and his friends had lain out in sleeping bags on the slope of a hill to watch the Airgead Meteor Shower in late October. It was a cold time of year to be camping out-of-doors on the Northside of Shadow, and the friends had all doubled up in the bags for warmth. (Inara burrowed closer in to Mal's shoulder.) They'd watched the sky to the northeast, shot the breeze, and enjoyed the natural show. After a few hours, they'd come back inside to warm up with hot cider and headed off to bed. Other times, they'd lain out watching the aurora borealis. Mal's boyhood had corresponded with a period of peak sunspot activity, and his Northside home lay in a latitude northerly enough to make auroras a frequent occurrence. Inara had never seen an aurora and she drank in his descriptions of the shimmering, shifting curtains of colored light. She massaged the palm of his hand as it lay on her stomach.

"Can you show me the constellations, Mal?" she asked. She admired Mal's skills at navigating by the stars—something she'd never realized was so important until they'd lost their navsats out of Beaumonde a few months ago.

"I s'pose I can, Inara," he answered. "I never been on Bandiagara before, so let me just get oriented here. The landmarks just ain't the same." He scanned the night sky for the familiar polar constellations. He'd grown so accustomed to the view from space that for the moment he was disoriented, unsure if it was the northern or southern polar constellations he was looking for, and trying to visualize the correction for the tilt of Bandiagara's axis. His recollections of star-gazing on Shadow all involved knowing which way was north based on the mountain peaks surrounding his ma's ranch. "Now, if we were on Shadow, I could—" He stopped. He'd been reminiscing so easily about Shadow, he'd forgotten momentarily that his home was no more. The burden of loss started descending again, and the pain that was never completely absent moved back towards the center of his mind.

Inara was about to speak—what words could she say to comfort him for the loss of his world?—when the most spectacular meteor of the night shot across the sky, from low on the horizon over Mal's left knee, right across the high arc of the sky, til it fizzled out over Inara's right shoulder. The fizzling sound reached them moments later.

She gave his hand a squeeze, then flipped over onto Mal's chest. Kissing him, she said in a low voice, "Now let me show you the stars."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

仁慈的佛 Réncí de Fó [Merciful Buddha]

* * *

><p><em>I hope you'll leave your comments or write a review.<em>


	18. Chapter 18

Bandiagara, Part 9a

_Children's games have more serious implications._

* * *

><p>It was time, Mal decided, or well past time, that he had a talk with River about…aw, hell, this was gonna be awkward. Girl was a genius, and for probably as long as she could remember she'd been years ahead of her cohorts in intellectual matters. Mal could just imagine what little girl River had been like—playing with other little kids in her neighborhood, probably put them all off talkin' about the physics of dust motility and the fallacious arguments of the 23rd century philosophers or some such. Since then she had lived through horrors that most adults never had to deal with, and she was not yet out of her teens. The girl had grown up fast.<p>

It was the growing up fast bit that had Mal worried. He'd made River pilot of Serenity, given her adult responsibilities. She handled it well (so long as she was not having one of her crazy times), but when he recollected what _he'd _been doing when he was eighteen, it had him near a panic.

So when he saw River and Ip dancing together in the firelight at the feast, alarm bells began ringing in his head. Then he saw them kissing, and the bells escalated up to a decibel level that was impossible to ignore. It wasn't that he didn't trust Ip Neumann. The young man was intelligent and good-natured; he seemed to be kind. It was just that…he didn't trust him. River had an older brother, one who worried about her and cared for her and gave up his whole life in the Core to rescue her, and just about smothered her with his over-protectiveness. In Simon's mind, River was still his 小妹妹 xǐao mèimei, and he hadn't come to terms with the notion that she was growing up. Mal wasn't River's brother, nor was he her father, but he felt responsible nonetheless for protecting her and making sure she didn't get hurt. Especially considering the kind of examples she was surrounded by on Serenity. Her brother and Kaylee—doin' it all hours, all over the ship, with enough noise that everybody aboard knew more details than was decent. Jayne—well, Jayne's mouth was and always had been full of words unfittin' for young ears, and his talk alone was enough to color the air blue. Zoe—she weren't doin' nothin' indecent, but regular association with a five-month-pregnant lady was bound to turn a young person's thoughts a certain direction. Him and Inara—well, he didn't reckon he was settin' the best example himself, them not being married.

He made up his mind to take the next opportunity to have a private talk with River.

. . .

River joined the crowd of children settled under the acacia trees outside the schoolhouse on the outskirts of the village. A wooden board with a dozen pits carved into it was the focal point of the group, and River watched as two of the children took turns scooping up the game pieces from one of the pits and distributing them according to a certain pattern among the other pits. The children who were not directly involved in the game were not shy about expressing their opinions about what would make the best move.

"No! Musa, you're not going to capture anything if you choose that one!" a girl exclaimed. The boy hesitated, his hand over the second pit.

"Choose the next one," another boy advised.

"No, no! Choose the one behind!" an excitable, tall boy said. "It has _seven_ pebbles. You'll capture the pebbles in _both _pits that way."

"Yes, he will," said the opposing player, a quiet girl. Her eyes gleamed as Musa made the move, capturing the pebbles in two of her pits. "But then," she said, scooping up the contents of a third pit, "I will capture _four _of his."

A chorus of groans and cheers erupted from the children, according to which player they were hoping would win the game.

River smiled at the children and silently watched the game. Soon she had the rules figured out, and she calculated the sequence of moves that would win, lose or tie the game, watching as the children scooped up and distributed the game pieces, capturing their opponents' when their move ended by bringing the total of pieces in the pit to two or three. Eventually the quiet girl's strategy prevailed over Musa's hesitation, and the two children stood up, allowing others to take their place.

"Would you like to play?" the quiet girl asked River.

"Yes," River answered. "Do you have another game board?" she asked, since two more players had settled down at the original game board.

"We can make one," the girl answered, settling down in the dust beneath the tree. "My name is Isatou," she said, as she scooped a line of pits in the soil with her hands.

"My name is River," River replied, and scooped a line of pits herself. She quirked her eyebrow at the girl, who understood immediately.

"Oh, no worries," Isatou said, producing a little bag from the pocket of her dress. "I always carry my pebbles with me. Most of the children here do." She overturned the bag and the pebbles spilled out on to the ground. River watched as she distributed them amongst the pits in the starting positions.

"Those are pretty pebbles," River observed. They were octahedral rock crystals—or, more accurately, they were truncated octahedra: fourteen faces, six of them square and eight of them hexagonal. River noted that most of them had a bluish cast, ranging from pale to an intense deep color, depending on the amount of cupric impurity integrated into the crystal structure. Clarity was also variable, and ranged from clear to milky.

"Yes, very pretty," Isatou agreed. "All the children know where to find the pebbles, but _I_ know where to find the _best_ ones."

"Let's play," River said.

. . .

Mal found River deeply involved in a board game with the village children. There was no bringing up the subject he had in mind before the kids, so he settled down to watch the game. It was a variant of oware, a game he had played as a child on Shadow, and although at first he watched to be sure River wasn't taking advantage of the children, he soon realized that many of the children were more than a match for the Albatross. He was sure she could calculate many moves ahead, but the kids were well-practiced, and their impulsiveness worked to their great advantage, because River's opponents frequently did not make the most logical move, and the randomness of their choices forced River to reconfigure her strategy completely between moves.

"…a fifty-eighty percent chance of a positive outcome, taking into consideration the randomness factor," River was saying as she scooped up a handful of rocks from the dust.

No sooner had he come to the conclusion that River was just as likely to get her clock cleaned as to clean up, than he felt a gentle tug on his hand. He looked down to see a bright smiling face and a pair of shining eyes, and recognized one of the children who had been treated at Simon and Inara's clinic. "_Jëkkëre_ Inara, do you want to play, too?" the child asked him.

"Absolutely," Mal answered with a grin, and a smile on top of it at the warm feeling that came from being called Inara's husband (even if it weren't really true). He soon found himself settled in the dust, facing a young boy, helping to scoop out a line of pits.

When Mal was a boy, the game pieces were either marbles, or, if you were improvising, seeds. These kids were playing with pieces made from rock crystals. They were not carved or cut, but just the crystals as naturally formed. Mal had a feeling about the crystals, but soon he was caught up in the game, laughing along with the children, and causing an uproar when he made an unexpected move and captured the pebbles from five of his opponent's pits. It was a bold move, but it didn't last, as the boy picked up the pebbles from his only remaining pit and captured _all_ of Mal's.

. . .

After another busy day assisting Simon in the infirmary, Inara took a stroll in the cooler air of the early evening, and found Mal settled in under a tree near the schoolhouse, surrounded by a crowd of children.

"You think I should sow this one?" Mal asked the group at large, his right hand hovering over a depression in the dirt, while his left hand held onto the legs of a small child who had climbed onto his shoulders to watch the game. "Watch it, little one, the hair's still attached," he said as the tot grabbed two fistfuls of his hair for balance. The children shouted, "Yes! No!" in equal numbers, or at least at equal volume. "What do you say, Isatou?" he asked a little girl.

"I say no," she answered, decisively.

"Alright then, no it is." His hand moved over to the adjacent pit. "How's about this one, then?"

"No, no," an excitable boy exclaimed. "You'll lose the game!"

Mal looked up, caught Inara's eye, and smiled. "Musa?" he asked a boy standing at his side. "What's your advice?"

"You'll lose this round," Musa declared, "but—" he bent over and whispered in Mal's ear.

Mal's face broke into an ear-splitting grin. "That's as good a reason as ever I heard, Musa." He made his move. The children groaned. Mal's opponent, a girl who looked to be about ten years old, wore a look of undisguised greed on her face as she anticipated cleaning up.

But then she hesitated. It had been a sure thing, but—where had all the good moves gone? A ripple of excitement spread through the crowd of children, as they realized the Captain had turned the tables. Inara watched as the girl grew frustrated, then picked up a handful of pebbles and nearly threw them into the pits.

Inara saw that Mal was carefully observing the girl and the other children, but his face gave nothing away. He went through the process of asking the children's advice, not prolonging it overmuch, then made his move. It was a spectacular blow-out, and the girl quickly moved to clean up the wreckage. Mal had lost by a huge amount, and the girl, all smiles now, moved off to let others play.

Mal stood up and dusted himself off. "Let it never be said that Malcolm Reynolds cannot snatch defeat from the jaws of victory," he pronounced. "Thanks for a good game, Mualuma."

"Don't go, _Jëkkëre_ Inara!" the children began to protest, and the young one clung to his leg.

"Got to get back to work, y'all," he said, "but I'll come and play again tomorrow, if I can."

He made his way over to where Inara was standing and put a hand round her waist. When he spoke though, it was to Ip, who, unnoticed by Inara, had joined the group. "Ip," Mal said quietly, "will you take a look at the game pieces the kids are playing with?" Ip, whose attention was completely focused on River, was taken by surprise. "Isatou," Mal called, getting the attention of a quiet girl nearby, "will you show Dr Ip your pebbles?"

The girl smiled at Mal, who gave her a brief one-armed hug and a smile in return. She pulled a little bag from her pocket and poured about fifty curiously-shaped rock crystals into Ip's hand. Ip started so violently he nearly dropped them all in the dust.

"Are they what I think they are?" Mal asked Ip quietly.

Ip looked up and met the Captain's gaze. "Yes, Captain, they are—timonium nesosilicate crystals. I've only ever seen them in museums!"

Mal looked from Ip to Inara and back again. "Pure timonium—or pure enough as makes no nevermind."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

小妹妹 xǐao mèimei [baby sister]

_Jëkkëre _[Husband of] Inara

* * *

><p><em>Reviews and comments are always welcome.<em>


	19. Chapter 19

Bandiagara, Part 9b

_No one welds like a Cobb. The Captain and the Village Elder make a deal._

_A/N: Chinese words and phrases are translated at the bottom, as well as all the words and phrases of Wolof used in this story._

* * *

><p>Kaylee's days on Bandiagara were busy. She got up at first light, because she and Simon had found that it was impossible to lie a-bed late here in Fajara. Nothin' against the Fajarans—they were the kindest, most hospitable people ever—and nothin' against the rooftop guest quarters, which were comfortable and romantic as anything. She loved cuddlin' under the stars and snuggling up with Simon and feeling like they were the only two lovers in the 'Verse. The Fajarans had no problem with the idea of an engaged couple having night visits, and she and Simon had enjoyed lots of good lovin' on their rooftop bedplace. But as soon as the sun popped up over the horizon, the rooftop began to heat up like a griddle, and after the first day they'd learned there was no fighting it. Best just to get up, make your way to the long drop, and get on with business before the whole world heated up like a griddle. They coulda slept aboard Serenity, of course, but the Captain felt it was important for good trade relations to accept of the villagers' hospitality, so Serenity stayed buttoned up at night, and they all slept in guest quarters. Which, except for the gettin' grilled alive in the morning part, was just fine and dandy in Kaylee's view.<p>

She felt queasy in the mornings, but things settled in soon as she had something to eat. She reckoned it was on account of working so hard she was so hungry. There was no denying, she'd always loved fresh fruit, and it was no surprise she'd acquired a craving for papayas sprinkled with lime juice for breakfast every morning. Then she made her way over to Serenity, checked in to see how her girl had passed the night, and set to work fixing up machines as fast as she could put 'em together.

People were comin' in with requests now, and when she was able, she filled 'em, like the fella that wanted a ten-speed bicycle with an extra-sturdy frame and carry rack welded on. She also just kept fixin' and making whatever she could put together, because there wasn't a machine yet hadn't found somebody here wanted it. Most days, Jayne turned up before long to help with the work, and Captain and Zoe lent a hand whenever they weren't busy smoothing the workings of the trade and dealing with the village elders. Ip and River had taken over the small electronics department, and the communicators and vid devices they fixed up went like hotcakes. Kaylee had met the two mechanics who lived in the village, Baaba and Bintou, and while the fella was kept pretty busy at his own shop—he mainly did vehicles, much as he could—the gal stopped by frequently, lending a hand at assembling small machinery in return for first pick and a discount on certain items.

Jayne had revealed superior talents as a welder, a skill that came in real handy as Kaylee assembled some of the larger items especially. One day she just asked him.

"Wherever did you learn to weld like that, Jayne?" The man was a true artist.

"Never thought about it," Jayne answered truthfully. "My old man's a welder. Reckon I just kinda took it in."

"If you can weld like that, whatcha doin' slummin' here with us? You could get you a good-payin' steady job on any Rim world where things need puttin' together."

"Not a lot of excitement in puttin' things together," Jayne answered. He looked at Kaylee with a wicked grin. "Blowin' stuff up, though—now we're talkin'."

. . .

"_Salaamaalekum_," Mamadou greeted Mal.

"_Maalekum salaam_," Mal answered, beginning the ritual exchange of greetings that began every new encounter in Fajara.

"_Nanga def?"_

"_Maangi fi rek_," Mal replied. He had learned the first few questions and responses by heart by now.

"_Naka waa kër ga?"_

Mal always chose to construe this as referring to his crew, so he answered, "_Ñunga fa_."

"_Naka liggéey bi?"_

This was where it began to break down for Mal, so he answered in English, "The work is fine, thank you."

"_Nanga fanaane?"_

The elder always seemed to enjoy askin' him that particular question. "I slept very well, 谢谢 您 xièxie nín," Mal answered as he always did. And he was—sleepin' better than he ever had in his life, cuddled up under the stars with Inara. The part of the night that they actually spent sleepin', anyways.

"You played oware with the children yesterday, Captain," Mamadou said.

"I did," Mal affirmed with a smile. "Haven't had such fun in years. Those kids are tough competitors."

"It teaches them math skills," Mamadou replied. "They learn to plan ahead." He looked at the Captain. "You're a natural with children, Captain. I hope you and _Jabaru _Reynolds are planning to have children soon."

Mal felt his face turning red and he looked at the ground. "Haven't really thought about it yet." It was a safer answer than that 白痴 báichī he'd spouted when Kaylee had asked him the same kind of question. _Oh, four. Maybe five. _But he couldn't help but feel his heart warming at what the elder had said. He looked up and smiled at Mamadou. "Say it again."

"What?"

"_Jabaru _Reynolds. I like the sound of that. Still not used to hearing it."

"Children are a gift, _Alhamdulillah_. May you and _Jabaru _Reynolds have many fine children." Mamadou watched the Captain glow. "_Jabaru _Reynolds will make a good mother. I've seen how kind and caring your wife is with the children who have been to see the Doctor."

"She's a very caring person," Mal answered, feeling the thrill of hearing Inara referred to as his wife. "She has always been good at caring for people."

Mal smiled again, thinking that he could get used to the notion of being Inara's husband. He didn't know where the Fajarans had got the idea they were married—he never said a thing about it one way or the other, Mamadou and all the others had just started calling them_ jëkkër _and_ jabar _and tucked them into married couples quarters from day one. He didn't object in the least—wished they really _were_ married. But the best part was, Inara didn't seem to object neither. She didn't start or jump when the villagers called her "_Jabaru _Reynolds" or, now that some of them were becoming more familiar, "_Jabaru _Mal," and relations between the two of them had been loving and easy the whole time they'd been here. It gave a man hope.

Mal brought his mind back to the reason he'd sought out Mamadou today. "When I was a kid, back on Shadow, we played oware with marbles. Or seeds."

Mamadou nodded, seeing exactly where the Captain was taking this conversation.

"But the kids, yesterday, they were playing with rock crystals. I've never seen anything like."

"All the children here play with those. It's nothing out of the ordinary."

"Where do the kids get the game pieces?"

"You mean the timonium crystals?" Mamadou returned, sharply. As a Bandiagaran, he'd had enough of outsiders coming in to exploit the world's resources, assuming that the locals were too ignorant to put a proper value on what they had.

"Yes," Mal replied, unflinching. The village elder was no fool, and Mal had expected him to be aware that the children had made playthings of high-grade timonium crystals. The question was why.

"This planet has abundant timonium resources. The children know where to find them. I will not share that information with you, nor with any outsider."

"Reckon I can understand your reasons for that." Mal wasn't about to let the matter drop, however. "You mean Allmine don't know about the timonium crystals you all have here, neither?"

"Allmine operates on another section of the planet, where timonium ore is abundant. They do not know that we can find the much purer crystalline form—without even digging—over here."

"Why don't they know?"

"They never troubled themselves to ask us." Mamadou was unable to keep bitterness out of his tone. "They bribed the World Council for access to what they wanted. They never thought about engaging the cooperation of the people in a mutually beneficial arrangement. Their one thought was exploit, exploit, exploit." He gave a thin smile. "They are the losers for it."

"That they are," Mal said. "It's all on account of they have no thought of trade for mutual benefit. Works out best when everybody wins from the arrangement. If they'd thought of giving heed to you all and what you need, there wouldn't be no place for me on this world, because you wouldn't be wanting the pumps and generators and medical supplies I brought here." He paused to let the thought sink in. "What you have here is a mineral resource that is more valuable than platinum."

"But not to us. For it to be valuable, there has to be a buyer. We cannot sell this timonium. There is no market on-planet. We have no access to markets off-planet. We are already making the fullest use of the timonium crystals we can—by using them as game pieces."

"You need a way to get the timonium to market."

"We do. But that is unlikely to happen. Allmine has rights to all timonium resources on the planet. 狐狸 Húli Network controls all imports and exports besides the ore transports run by Allmine. There are no ore processing facilities on Bandiagara, no markets for timonium. There is no legal way for us to market this resource for our own benefit."

Mal understood what the elder was hinting at. "Then what you need is an alternative way of getting the timonium to market." He paused. The Fajarans had taken well enough to his illegal landing and contraband goods. He studied Mamadou for a moment. The next step was decisive, and there would be no turning back. "What you need is a smuggler."

"What we need is a smuggler," Mamadou echoed. The two men locked eyes. "Someone who can take these things to market off-planet." They both knew they meant _black market._

"Alright, I think we got ourselves a deal."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

_Salaamaalekum [Peace be upon you (Wolof)]_

_Maalekum salaam [And on you, too]_

_Nanga def [How are you]_

_Maangi fi rek [I am fine]_

_Naka waa kër ga [How is the family]_

_Ñunga fa [They are fine]_

_Naka liggéey bi [How is the work]_

_Nanga fanaane [How did you spend the night]_

谢谢 您 xièxie nín [thank you (formal or polite)]

_Jabaru [Wife of] _Reynolds

白痴 báichī [idiocy]

_Alhamdulillah _[Allah be praised]

_jëkkër [husband]_

_jabar [wife]_

_Jabaru [Wife of]_ Mal

狐狸 Húli [fox]

* * *

><p><em>So, now you know how to carry on a conversation in Wolof, which might come in handy the next time you visit West Africa ;-). In the meantime, I hope you will leave me a review.<em>


	20. Chapter 20

Bandiagara, Part 10a

_Unintended consequences, and finding value in weeds_

* * *

><p>Simon was awakened earlier than usual, and not by the feeling of being grilled alive that awoke him most mornings. It was the noise. Discordant, harsh, braying, off-key singing blared through the early morning air. No, correction: calling it singing was an insult to musicality the 'Verse over. It was the most 很可怕 hěn kěpà din he'd ever heard. And it was loud.<p>

Kaylee stirred next to him, stretching and groaning. "I was afraid of this," she moaned into the pillow.

"And I can see why," Simon replied. "I'm likely to have nightmares about this for years to come, I'm so traumatized. Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"I installed a generator at the mosque yesterday," Kaylee told him.

"That hardly explains why someone is broadcasting the torture of animals at high volume in the early morning light," Simon responded.

"It ain't torture," Kaylee started, then reconsidered. "Well, yeah, actually, it is." She tried to stuff the pillow into her ears, but Simon was not about to suffer alone, and he pulled it away. Kaylee sat up and explained. "I fixed up the generator, an' obviously, the muezzin decided to try it out." At Simon's blank look she elaborated. "He's got loudspeakers mounted on the mosque, but he ain't been able to use 'em up 'til now." Simon still wasn't following, so she spelled it out. "It's the morning call to prayer."

"A call to prayer?" Simon exclaimed. "This makes me want to run the other direction!" He considered for a moment. "On the other hand, it does make me want to pray…pray for peace, pray for mercy—anything to make it stop."

. . .

Simon and Kaylee joined Mal and Inara at Nana and Mamadou's house at an earlier hour than they usually turned up for breakfast. They waited patiently for their hosts, rubbing their eyes, yawning, and reflecting that at least no one would be cooked alive on the rooftop this morning. Finally—it seemed like finally, but they were actually earlier than they'd ever been before—their hosts appeared and greetings were made. Mal flicked a look at Inara, and she understood his signal. As the most socially skilled of the group, it was her job to inquire—in the most diplomatic way possible—about the startling tuneless din that had awakened them all.

She was about to begin when Mamadou spoke. "I'm sure I have Alhajji's performance to thank for your early appearance at my door," he declared.

"Is it a Bandiagaran tradition?" Inara inquired politely.

"It certainly is, _Jabaru_ Mal," Nana responded.

"The chanting was very…exotic," Inara said carefully.

"Actually, I would say it was very tuneless," Mamadou replied, surprising them all.

"And very loud," Nana added.

"Is this a special occasion?" Inara asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Nana and Mamadou's faces took on long-suffering expressions. Mamadou sighed, and spoke. "No. Sadly, no."

"Alhajji is a very enthusiastic muezzin, but he is not very talented," Nana lamented. "He never was very talented. The only difference is that now the entire village can hear him, not just his nearest neighbors." She and Mamadou sighed again.

"Nothing like solving one problem to create a raft of others," Mal commented, and set to eating his breakfast to hide the smile twitching at his lips.

. . .

Mal finally caught up to River alone. Oware had become her obsession, and when she was not working with Ip on the small electronics—or playing with Ip at the kissing games, more than likely—she was invariably engaged in a game with the children of Fajara. Mal had a feeling that River knew exactly where the children found the timonium game pieces, and a lot more besides, but she wasn't telling.

"Albatross, you're a genius," Mal began. River looked at him and made no attempt to demur. "You're very smart. But that don't mean you know nothin' about—"

"About boys," River interrupted.

"—About men," Mal finished. "He's young yet, but he's no boy. He's a grown man. And you're still but a girl."

"Am not. I'm a woman. Not been a girl since before the Academy. They came down the chimney and stole childhood. Took it away. Made me grow up." She flashed him a look that made him jump. It was almost—_sultry_? Now he surely was in a panic. "Not a girl," she stated categorically. "Woman."

"River, if you're a woman, you're a very young one. I won't see you hurt. Most men, they see a pretty young woman, they see one thing—all they want is—" he hesitated, not wanting to be coarse.

"Sex," River finished. "The male of the species, especially the young male, spends approximately ninety percent of his waking hours thinking about sex."

"Disconcerting how you seem to know things like that."

"When he looks at me, he doesn't just see my 山峰 shānfēng and my 金的 山谷 jīn de shāngǔ. He also sees my mind. That is why I like him."

"Now that is really disconcerting."

. . .

Inara's days were filled with work in Serenity's clinic. Word had spread that a doctor was visiting Fajara, and the sick and the injured from the village, the surrounding countryside, and—as the week wore on—more distant villages, made their way to Serenity—on foot, by donkey cart, on bicycles, on beat-up old groundcars, and on hovercraft so decrepit Inara was amazed they even lifted off the ground, let alone ran.

Inara became quite skilled at triage. For minor ailments (and a few more serious ones that were common enough that she began to recognize their symptoms) Inara dispensed antiseptics, bandages, and antibiotics. Anything unusual, unexpected, or surgical she referred to Simon, who actually had the medical training to make a proper diagnosis. For the more serious surgeries, Inara assisted Simon in the operating room (Serenity's infirmary). The passenger lounge and two of the passenger bunks had been turned into the waiting area and two exam rooms, respectively.

"How are the medical supplies holding up?" Inara asked Simon during a lull in traffic one afternoon.

"We're just fine with surgical supplies," Simon replied, "Sutures, sterile saline, Ringer's solution and anesthetic. Only thing we're short of there is bandages, believe it or not. Medicines, though, are another story."

"I've dispensed more antibiotic than I thought Serenity carried," Inara commented.

"Well, we're lucky I purchased that case of antibiotic on Beylix," Simon remarked, "Otherwise we'd have run out the second day here. I have never seen so many cases of—well, diseases I thought were _extinct_—"

"Extinct?"

"Or at least very rare." Simon paused a moment. "Trypanosomiasis. Onchocerciasis. Malaria." He looked directly at Inara. "_Malaria_ for pete's sake!"

Inara didn't understand. She had never heard of these diseases. "I've never heard these terms. What is malaria?"

"Malaria," Simon explained, "is a disease that ravaged Earth-that-was for millennia. It's a disease as old as humankind itself, or even older. In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, some breakthroughs occurred, and people understood for the first time that parasites caused the disease and that it was spread by mosquitoes. For a while, it looked like the disease would be eradicated. There were some set-backs, but finally in the twenty-first century the corner was turned. I didn't know the disease still existed anywhere in the 'Verse—until I saw some cases here. I don't even stock anti-malarials on Serenity." He looked down for a moment, then continued. "Ip told me about a medicinal herbal tea made from _Artemisia annua_ that his grandmother used to make. It's apparently a family recipe and dates back to Ip's distant ancestors in China on Earth-that-was. Anyway, the tea-making process extracts an anti-malarial from the _Artemisia—_"

"What is an artemisia?" Inara asked, imagining some kind of cultivated garden flower, perhaps like a hibiscus.

"It's a weed," Simon replied. "It grows everywhere around here. There's a patch of it growing right at the foot of the ramp, in fact. Anyway, I pulverized some of it and extracted—" he saw he was losing his audience, and cut to the chase. "It worked. The Fajarans told me that they couldn't get regular shipments of the anti-malaria pills. They didn't know that they had the solution right here, literally on their doorsteps."

Inara made up her mind, right then and there, never to dismiss a weed as worthless out of hand.

"And then there's onchocerciasis," Simon continued.

"Onko-what?" Inara echoed.

"Also known as river blindness."

"_River_ blindness? You're kidding!"

"Not kidding. That's another dinosaur disease I thought I'd never see, but it's prevalent in these parts. The proper treatment is transivermectin, but regular antibiotics can keep it in check. _That's _what's been eating into our antibiotic supply so heavily—well, that and all the infections, and preventive treatments for the surgeries, and…天啊 tīan a, they really need a doctor on this world." He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

Inara sat down on the stool, next to where Simon stood contemplating the nearly-empty medicine locker. "There are a lot of things they need on this world." Inara had seen things her privileged upbringing on Sihnon and at the Companion Academy had never prepared her for. Even her years flying with Serenity had not prepared her for Bandiagara. She remembered complaining to Mal about 'backwater moons, slums, and frontier planets without so much as a temple built'—her previous standard for underdeveloped. Her complaints seemed so petty now. Now she realized that she had had no idea—and that what idea she had was all wrong, anyway.

"Kaylee told me there's an electric generator in the middle of the village that hasn't worked for years," Simon remarked. "A charitable group from the Core brought it out here and installed it. Three weeks later it stopped working. Apparently it wasn't hardy enough to survive in Bandiagara."

Simon had put his finger on it. "There's a lot that works in the Core that just doesn't work out here," Inara said. "It won't stop people in the Core from coming out here and telling these people what to do, however." _How did I come to sound so much like Mal?_ she wondered.

"Because the Alliance and Blue Sun know what's best for people," Simon said with ironic emphasis, adding, "Good grief, how did I come to sound so much like Mal?"

"I'm glad I didn't come here fresh from the Core; I'm glad I've spent some time traveling the Border planets and the Rim. Because Bandiagara just stretches one's concept of the 'Verse, doesn't it?"

Simon agreed that it did, but he waited for her to elaborate.

"The Core solutions just _do not work_ here," Inara continued. "Drop a person, an intelligent, capable person, from Sihnon or Osiris or Londinium here on Bandiagara, and they would not know what to do: they might not even know how to survive. They would find no restaurants, no grocery stores, they wouldn't know where to get food. They wouldn't know how to function without air conditioning; they wouldn't have the sense to sleep away the hot part of the day. They'd get heat stroke and at the same time call the natives lazy, not understanding that it's a sensible adaptation to the climate. They'd be bored without access to the cortex and newswaves, and would overlook the cultural riches that are to be enjoyed here. They would abandon their hovercar as broken and useless, and a Bandiagaran would come along and see the same vehicle as having many thousands of miles left in it."

"Did you see the vehicle one of our patients arrived in today?"

"You mean the hovercar with no roof, no dashboard…"

"…no seats, and no floor? Yes," Simon said, "I saw it. The patient was lying on a blanket stretched across the struts, while the driver's feet dangled through the holes rusted through the bottom. It can't have been a comfortable ride."

"Do you know how they started it up for the return journey?" Inara asked him. "They hot-wired it. Just like that's the normal way to start a hovercar. The key probably is back on Londinium somewhere, and never made to Bandiagara in the first place."

"And yet they made it work. That is just what is so remarkable." Simon considered a moment. "A Core person—like I was a couple of years ago, before Serenity—would just give up, probably die in short order, in a harsh environment like this. These people—they're not just surviving here—they're thriving."

"Well, not thriving in the conventional sense, Simon—there's no running water, no electricity, no _money_—" Inara began.

"Agreed. Not in the conventional sense. But they have wealth of a different kind. A strong community. Family ties."

"Happiness. Peace."

"No one here is unemployed. Everyone finds a way to contribute to the well-being of the community."

"They don't look for a job. They make themselves a job." _Rather like Mal did in coming here_, Inara thought. Bandiagara had really turned her sense of order on its head. She thought she was skilled at assessing people's place in the social spectrum. She could distinguish someone from an old, moneyed Core family from the newly rich. She could read the wealth and social status of a Core or Border person with great accuracy. But this place was off her social scale altogether, and defied assessment by the means she had been taught. She began to wonder if her training even applied out here on the Rim, or if she had been confused from the beginning, equating "rural" with "backward" and mistaking unconventional education for ignorance. There was a time to judge, and a time to think. She needed more time to think.

Simon looked out the bay door and saw a donkey cart headed towards the ship. "Well, _Jabaru_ Mal, it's been an enlightening discussion. But it's time to return to work." Simon smiled to himself. Inara hadn't so much as twitched at the name. "You like it."

"Like what? The work?" Inara smiled at Simon. "I certainly do. It's a bit of a challenge, to tell you the truth, and I'm glad you're willing to put up with my help, given that I'm not really trained beyond basic first aid. And—" she stopped, as she caught Simon's expression. "What?"

"You really do like it. You didn't even notice." Simon was grinning, unable to contain himself.

"Notice what?"

"I called you_ Jabaru_ Mal." He smiled. "You_ like _being _Jabaru_ Mal."

She arched her eyebrows and smiled. "Hmm. Perhaps I do. It seems to work, here." She stopped before she said anything definite. "And what about you, Dr Tam? I haven't seen you object to your 'engagement' to marry a certain mechanic. You seem to like it, as well."

"Oh, yes, I do," Simon replied readily. "I do. I really, really do."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

很可怕 hěn kěpà [godawful]

_Jabaru_ Mal [Wife of Mal]

山峰 shānfēng [mountain peaks]

金的 山谷 jīn de shāngǔ [golden valley]

天啊 tīan a [god]

* * *

><p><em>Nearly to the end of this story. Comments and reviews welcome.<em>


	21. Chapter 21

Bandiagara, Part 10b

_The elephant in the living room, and the dawn of a new day_

* * *

><p>Someone had to mention the elephant in the living room, and Jayne figured it was gonna be him. Only it weren't no elephant. And it was in the cargo bay, not the living room. But it <em>was<em> big. And smelly, too. "Mal," he said, "Someone forgot to empty out the septic vac on Beylix." He glared at Simon, 'cause the Doc was always tryin' to get out of septic vac duty, and he figured it was him what forgot. Jayne had momentarily forgotten how the work had broken down on Beylix—how Simon, Kaylee, Zoe and Mal had worked liked dogs collecting the junkyard gleanings that had filled Serenity's cargo bay, while Jayne had been preoccupied with his friend Janice.

Mal looked conscious of something. Pleased. But he wouldn't answer. He looked down at his folded hands and his mouth twitched into a half smile.

River spoke up. "We can turn trash into treasure."

"Gorrammit, girl, you done said that a hunnert times already." Jayne glared at her. Enough of this 废话 fèihuà.

"Seventeen."

"Gorram—"

"Wasn't there a fairy tale where they turned straw into gold?" Zoe asked, knowing perfectly well what Mal had in mind.

"Yeah, but ya can't turn 牛屎 niú shǐ into gold," Jayne replied, a bit angrily. Fairy tales weren't gonna empty the septic vac. He just _knew_ it was gonna be him.

"Can't ya?" Mal said. "How about turning 牛屎 niú shǐ into timonium?"

"Now how the 地狱 dìyù ya gonna do that, Mal?" Jayne asked, in all seriousness. To his annoyance, Mal burst into stifled guffaws, joined by a snort of laughter from Zoe and uncontained hilarity from River.

"Already found a buyer for it, Jayne."

. . .

Mal lay next to Inara in the half-light before dawn, propped on one elbow and tracing light circles on her chest with his other hand. At intervals he dropped his head down to kiss or taste her body.

"You're thoughtful this morning, Mal," Inara said softly, as she stroked his neck and shoulders lightly with her fingers.

Mal's exploring tongue stilled a moment. "You mean to say, you can do what I'm doin' thoughtfully?" he inquired. "Huh. Have to think on that a moment," he added impishly.

"Oh, you!" She batted at his ears playfully.

He continued his ministrations silently—_thoughtfully_, no doubt. Then he spoke. "Inara, I've been wondering…"

He paused, so she gave him an encouraging smile.

"Will you make an honest man of me?"

She met his eyes. His look was half-bantering, half-serious. "Make an honest man of you?" she answered with a smile. "I can't do that. That's something you have to do for yourself, Mal." She stroked her fingers through his hair. "Besides, I wouldn't stand a chance, Mal. Not as long as you keep doing these illegal but noble acts. It's irresistible."

He sputtered a moment, then propped himself up on both elbows and grinned. He kissed her chest a bit more—_thoughtfully_, he reflected—then he spoke. "I was just wonderin'—everybody here in Fajara thinks we're married…" he began.

"And why is that, Mal?"

"I didn't start it. I don't know where they got the notion." He gathered his thoughts. "But I have to say, I never been happier than when the people here call me your husband, or when they tell me that my wife saved another child's life at the clinic. I could wish it would be this way always."

"I love where we've been these last two weeks," Inara said, then clarified. "I don't mean Bandiagara, specifically. I mean where you and I have been, with respect to each other."

"Why not make it for keeps, then?"

"Did you just ask me to marry you?"

"I believe I just did." She looked at him silently, so he made it plain. "Inara, will you marry me?"

"Are you sure, Mal?"

"Yes."

"No, think about it. You'd be happily married to me here, but what about when we're elsewhere?" He began to protest that his love would not diminish anywhere, but she overrode him and continued. "I have a past, Mal, one that you'd have to accept and deal with if we're to be together." He fell silent, and she elaborated. "Suppose we were walking together, on Persephone for example, or any of dozens of other worlds where I have worked, and I were greeted by a man—someone who had been my client—and he were to look at me with a smug, satisfied look on his face. How would you react?"

_I'd beat that smug look right off the __他妈的__狗娘养的__tāmādē gǒuniángyǎngde face,_ thought Mal, and Inara said, "I thought so," even though he hadn't said a word. Had his thoughts been so transparent?

_You look that way, too, after a good night, Mal,_ she thought, _and maybe you've seen that look on me._ She shifted her position on the mattress. "You're not ready for this step. I can't have you doing violence to all my former clients, Mal. They are powerful people whose influence can work to our benefit, and besides, there are too many of them. Don't look that way, Mal—this is part of who I am, an unchangeable element of my past. If you can't accept that, we have little chance of a future together.

"Don't tell me you have no unsavory elements in your past, Mal," she continued. "I have to learn to deal with and accept your past, as you with mine." She looked searchingly in his face, and it seemed to him that it was her inner self, the real Inara, seeking to connect with his inner self. "We have a lot to do—getting to know one another and coming to terms with history—before we're ready to take this step."

"I take it you're not sayin' 'yes,' then," Mal said, less disappointed than he thought he'd be with this outcome.

"I'm not saying 'no,' either," Inara responded. "I'm saying it's best if I don't answer the question right now." Her eyes grew bright. "But I'm delighted you asked." She bent over and kissed him. "It's the first sincere marriage proposal I've ever had."

"Really?" he asked, astonished. For the first time in a long time, he saw his glass as half full. She had said _not now_. He heard it as _yes, later._ "What's the matter, all the men in the Core blind?"

"This discussion is over," she said. He began to protest when she added, "The sun is up. We don't want to—how'd you put it the other day?—'bake like scones on a griddle'."

It was true. The rooftops were uncommonly pleasant places to be at night, but during the day, the relentless heat of the sun made their sleeping quarters untenable, starting no more than a few minutes after sunrise. No grilled Captain today. Nor grilled Companion. They hastened to dress and walked to breakfast, hand in hand.

. . .

.

.

.

_fin_

glossary

废话 fèihuà [rubbish]

牛屎 niú shǐ [cow shit]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

_他妈的 狗娘养的 __tāmādē gǒuniángyǎngde [f-king son-of-a-bitch's]_

* * *

><p><em>And that's a wrap! For this story, anyhow. The tale will continue in the next story, Two by Two by Two. I hope you enjoyed this one. Please leave a comment or review.<em>


End file.
